


Asking For the Moon

by insertsomethingwitty, L_E_D



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (its mild dw), Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Thieves, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arson, Bad Flirting, Bad Parenting, Crossdressing, Drunken Shenanigans, Eventual Smut, M/M, Making Out, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Polyamory, Violence, eat the rich, playfully anachronistic, prince!tsukki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:20:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 65,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25040767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insertsomethingwitty/pseuds/insertsomethingwitty, https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_E_D/pseuds/L_E_D
Summary: “Steal all this, and you could make a small fortune. But steal a prince? Now, that could buy you a lifetime of luxury.”(in which Prince Tsukishima meets a group of thieves)
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou/Kuroo Tetsurou, Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou/Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei, Akaashi Keiji/Tsukishima Kei, Bokuto Koutarou/Tsukishima Kei, Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei
Comments: 239
Kudos: 1019
Collections: HQ Feels (Mostly M or E)





	1. Silence is Golden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who left us alone with anime, honestly

“Stop touching it, you look good.”

Akaashi puts his hand down from where he’s fiddling with his wig, his expression sour. It does nothing to distract from how beautiful he looks; his minimal makeup is just enough to soften his features into something more feminine than usual.

Bokuto had managed to talk him into a wig; it’s long and dark and the way it frames his face has both Kuroo and Bokuto unable to keep their eyes off of him for long. Bokuto, at least, is going to have to cool it when they get into the party if he’s supposed to be playing Akaashi’s brother. Not that Akaashi cares about that—he’d rather complain about how itchy it is.

Kuroo and Bokuto are dressed plainly in black, formal but uninteresting. They look good, but of the three of them, it’s Akaashi who draws the eye. His dress is purple, simple. It flows gracefully off his frame, concealing his masculine build—and all the knives hidden underneath it. 

Akaashi goes to fiddle with his wig again, but is stopped by Kuroo grabbing his hand in his. They can’t afford anything that would get them caught. They’re only a few feet from the ballroom door, waiting behind other guests to introduce themselves to the prince. 

The castle looks like any other disgusting display of money that Kuroo has seen in his life, though he must admit that this is worse than most. The ceilings drip into glittering chandeliers, illuminating the party guests that seem to be glowing for all the light reflecting off of expensive jewellery. Any eligible women in the kingdom were invited to try their hand at seducing the prince, but for every common girl hoping to strike a lucky break is another, richer one who was invited specifically for the power their family could offer the royal family. On the surface it’s a fair contest, but the sight of the room only proves what Kuroo had already known—it’s rigged, right from the start.

Kuroo supposes this show of wealth is supposed to be beautiful. He looks at it and feels nothing but contempt, for everything from the extravagant chandeliers to the tapestries on the wall to the elegant stones underfoot.

What a fucking waste of space. 

Their turn comes and Akaashi steps through the doorway, only for a guard to rest a heavy hand on his shoulder and pull him backwards. Kuroo’s eyes widen in panic. Have they seen through their disguise already? The guard grunts, “Only one chaperone per guest.” Kuroo lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Akaashi’s eyes turn murderous and his hands fly up to sign things too explicit to ever be said in the presence of royals. Kuroo quickly steps in with an explanation that he’s her interpreter and they get in the castle, while Bokuto puts a calming arm around Akaashi. They opted for the “mute” excuse, since Akaashi’s deep voice was guaranteed to blow their cover. 

Moving past the guard, Akaashi scans the ballroom. To anyone else, he’s just one of many young girls taking in the glory of the castle up close for the first time. To Kuroo and Bokuto, he’s counting exits. Kuroo’s eyes sweep the room, quickly considering and dismissing escape strategies. Bokuto catalogues the guests, separating possible allies from people to avoid. 

Before they know it, they’re standing in front of the prince. A complication immediately presents itself. The prince is _fucking_ _hot_. 

He’s tall. He seems even taller with his regal posture and his chin lifted. If Kuroo didn’t know any better, he’d say it looks defiant. His clothes could be stitched together with golden thread for how disgustingly royal he looks. His long hair seems longer for his height; it rests halfway down in his back in a neat ponytail, perfectly straight. His eyes—golden, as is his hair—glare down at them with practiced contempt from behind thick black frames. 

Kuroo wants to ruin him.

He doesn’t quite realize how long they’ve been staring—the prince just staring back—until Kuroo feels an elbow jabbing his ribs.There’s a matching _oomph_ from Bokuto on Akaashi’s right.

Akaashi’s hands start moving, signing quickly with his long fingers. Kuroo almost misses what he says, eyes magnetized to the prince’s long, _long_ legs. _God, he isn’t that hot, pick your jaw up off the floor._

Kuroo grins and offers it to the prince. “She says it’s very nice to meet you, your Highness.” Akaashi’s face is carefully blank. 

The prince’s eyes shoot to Kuroo from where he was staring at Akaashi. He raises one delicate eyebrow. 

“She’s mute, your Highness,” Kuroo explains. “She can hear you, and we’re here to interpret for her.”

“You need two interpreters?” The prince finally speaks, voice dripping with boredom. Kuroo wants to punch him. 

Unlike the guard earlier, the prince speaks directly to Akaashi. 

_I’ve got a lot to say,_ Akaashi signs, and Kuroo interprets as is. “Besides, your Majesty. We couldn’t miss the chance to see the palace in all its glory.”.

_Stop flirting_. “This is Fukurodani Akane,” Kuroo falsely translates. “And you are?”

The prince is distinctly unimpressed by Kuroo’s impertinent question, though Kuroo thinks he catches his eyes lingering on him and Bokuto. Maybe the prince’s personality has less to do with his lack of a suitor than Kuroo had originally thought.

“Tsukishima.” No honorifics. Kuroo adds them for him: His Royal Highness, Prince Tsukishima Kei, younger brother to the Crown Prince Tsukishima Akiteru, second in line for the throne of Karasuno. It doesn’t matter how hot he is, or whether or not he’s exactly Kuroo’s type. He’s royalty—he’s scum. 

Akaashi complains that his wig is itchy, Kuroo makes the necessary pleasantries, and then, for better or worse, their first—and only—conversation with Prince Tsukishima is mercifully over.

Kuroo all but drags Akaashi and Bokuto over to the first waiter he sees carrying alcohol. It’s champagne in crystal flutes; Kuroo grabs one, but before he even has the chance to try and taste it, Akaashi snatches it from his grip, swallowing it all in one go. Bokuto shoots him an amused look. Akaashi pays him no mind and simply returns the glass to Kuroo. “We have to stay sober, you know.”

_I’m wearing a wig, a corset, a puffy dress, and 2 inch heels. Let me have this._

Bokuto laughs. “He’s got a point, Kuroo.”

They start to mingle without mingling, keeping up the pretence of being there. They're all watching the room, collecting information quietly while looking bored to onlookers. Kuroo’s eyes keep getting caught—on the prince, of all things. Tsukishima never stops looking bored and meets Kuroo’s eyes whenever he catches him looking. He isn’t the only one who notices. 

“So are we going to acknowledge the fact that Kuroo wants to fuck the prince, or…?” says Bokuto. 

_I wasn’t sure if you were going to hit him or kiss him,_ Akaashi signs with a silent laugh. 

Kuroo rolls his eyes. “It’s not like I was the only one.”

Akaashi and Kuroo send Bokuto an accusatory look. Bokuto points across the room. “Look, hors d'oeuvres! Let’s go over there and not talk about this anymore.”

They hole up in a corner, munching on the ridiculously small portions of finger food—probably because of all the common folk. Can’t let them take advantage of the king’s hospitality. 

They make a game of spotting the most expensive things in the room and then deciding what they’ll spend the money on once they steal it. Getting their reconnaissance work done while having a good time—their speciality. 

Akaashi has to sign everything, in case anyone is watching and blows their cover. Kuroo automatically slips into signing back—it’s easier not to have to worry about eavesdroppers. Bokuto doesn't bother—he understands it fine, he just complains that his fingers aren’t nimble enough for it. They all learned so they could communicate easily and silently while on the job; it comes in handy more often than they ever expected it to. 

Bokuto is the first one to point out the obvious: the prince is staring right at them. He’s across the room; there’s no way he’s heard anything they’ve said, but Kuroo still feels like he’s been spied on. Kuroo shakes it off, responds to Akaashi. _Do we have to sell the swords? Imagine how badass that’d be, whipping out a gold-encrusted sword like it’s nothing._

_You’re an idiot. You could buy fifty knives with the money from those things._

“Guys? I think the prince is coming over here,” Bokuto interrupts.

Sure enough, Tsukishima is navigating the crowded party full of people hungry for his attention, his eyes only on them. 

“Shit. What do we do?”

_Step one: don’t hit on him again. That’s_ my _job._

Kuroo raises an eyebrow. “There’s no need to fight. We’re good at sharing, aren’t we?”

Before they can discuss _that_ any further, Tsukishima is in front of them once again.

“Prince Tsukki! How nice seeing you again.” Kuroo dips into a small bow. He’s talking too much for an interpreter but he can’t seem to help himself. 

Tsukishima narrows his eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

“As you wish, _Princess_.” Kuroo can feel Bokuto and Akaashi looking at him and winces internally. He’s acting like a dumbass, why aren’t they stopping him?

Tsukishima’s jaw tightens. 

_Kuroo, can you just ask him what he wants so he’ll leave us alone?_

Tsukishima watches Akaashi’s hands move before turning to Kuroo for the translation. 

“To what do we owe the pleasure, your Highness?” 

“Plausible deniability,” Tsukishima says, half turned to scan the rest of the room. 

The three of them share a look. “What?” 

Satisfied that he wasn’t followed, Tsukishima finally faces them, pompous expression still in place.

“If it looks like I’m talking to you,” he inclines his head to Akaashi, “then I can get away with not talking to any of _them_.” He nods at the rest of the room.

Bokuto slings his arm over Akaashi, who only barely allows it. “Aw, you hear that? His Highness thinks we’re more fun than a bunch of rich people. We should be honored.”

Tsukishima, the prince of a kingdom and wealthier than any of them would ever be in their lives, rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Just go back to what you were talking about and I’ll pretend to be completely fascinated by your boring chitchat so they’ll leave me alone.”

Kuroo is about to question who “they” refers to, until he looks up and notices a not insignificant amount of the party eyeing them. It must be pretty exhausting, to have everyone wanting your time and attention like that. 

“Yes, boring chitchat. We were just discussing, uh,” It doesn’t happen often, but Kuroo’s human. He blanks. 

Bokuto saves him. “Is a pegasus a horse or a bird?” 

Kuroo isn’t sure if he should be grateful or exasperated, because honestly, what the fuck, Bokuto?

“It’s obviously a horse, why would you even ask?” 

“It’s got wings!” 

“So? A bat has wings and that isn’t a bird!”

“Isn’t a bat a bird though? Like, spiritually?”

“No, a bat is not a _bird_ ,” Tsukishima cuts in. “Is this what you’ve been talking about this whole time? I should’ve stayed over there.” 

“Akaa—Akane? Any thoughts?” Kuroo almost slips up and calls him Akaashi; he’s having too much fun. 

_A pegasus is as much a bird as I am a girl. Bokuto is an idiot._

Kuroo claps his hands. “Three against one, a pegasus is a horse. Next question.” Bokuto pouts.

_I have one. Why is everyone staring at us?_

“Have you seen Tsukki’s legs? It’d be weirder if they weren’t.” Failed step one. 

Kuroo expects Tsukishima to ignore him, to scoff at his flirtation, to do anything but what he actually does. He blushes. 

Ah, fuck. 

*******

The bright image of the moon reflecting on the glossy ballroom floor is the only source of light at their disposal as Bokuto, Akaashi, and Kuroo scurry around. With the party long over, the castle is all but deserted. The thieves move around quickly, grabbing everything they can carry in the short amount of time at their disposal. 

Bokuto is busy trying to lift a statue off its pillar near the bottom of the grand staircase, and Akaashi’s entire focus is set on removing a jewel encrusted in the wall with the tip of his knife. Kuroo, for his part, is reaching over the large fireplace at the edge of the room. There hangs the decorative sword he spotted earlier. Its handle has enough gold tacked onto it to feed a family for weeks. He’s just managed to unhook it when a distinctly _unfamiliar_ set of footsteps echoes around them. “Well, well, well,” says a smug voice, “what do we have here?”

Kuroo turns around, sword still clutched in his now sweaty palms. Akaashi goes stiff as a board, Bokuto slowly shifts to hide the incriminating statue behind his back, and Kuroo’s eyes land on none other than Prince Tsukishima. 

“You know,” the prince continues, confidently walking towards Kuroo, “you guys should be more careful if you intend to rob the royal palace.” 

The three thieves simply stare as Tsukishima reaches Kuroo’s side, too shocked to move. Tsukishima gingerly takes the sword from Kuroo’s hands and offers him a smirk in return. “When you walk into a room full of overly educated royals, you have to assume at least _some_ of us speak sign language.” He pauses and runs delicate fingers along the edge of the blade. Kuroo swallows, frozen under Tsukishima’’s gaze. “At least, if you plan to do something so foolish.”

He nods jerkily, unsure how to react. Shouldn’t the prince be calling the guards? Why isn’t he scared? He’s just caught three armed men breaking into his home. And yet, he continues to speak, seemingly completely unbothered by the situation. “How much is this worth, really?” he asks, attention now focused on the decorative sword. “Steal this, the statue, and the few gems you’ll get off the walls, and you could make a small fortune.”

Tsukishima is gleeful when he adds,“But steal a prince? Now, _that_ could buy you a lifetime of luxury.”

If Kuroo thought he was surprised before, it’s nothing compared to what he’s feeling now. He hears Bokuto gasp from the other end of the room. His eyes flick to where Akaashi stands behind Tsukishima. “ _What the fuck_ ,” mouths Akaashi. Kuroo wishes he had the answer. 

Miraculously, he finds his voice long enough to ask, “What are you implying?”

“Simple. You take me with you, and return me later for a nice ransom.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” says Bokuto, leaving his prize behind to step forward, “that sounds sketchy as all hell.”

Akaashi nods. 

Kuroo frowns. “Why would we do that? Why would _you_?”

Tsukishima shrugs, arrogant expression never slipping off his face. “You get a decent sum and I get a vacation. Why not?”

“A hostage situation can hardly be considered a ‘vacation’.” Akaashi scoffs.

Tsukishima spins on his heels to face him, aiming the sword at his chest, and Akaashi makes a point not to flinch. “It is if it means I can get out of this place.”

Kuroo takes a second to consider this as his brain recovers from the two most startling minutes of his life. On the one hand, a prince has just offered them the blueprints to the most reckless scheme they’ve ever considered. Not to mention that this could be an elaborate trap, however strange. 

On the other hand, however… One of the hottest people he’s ever seen has just offered himself to be taken prisoner, entirely at his and his boyfriends’ mercy. The thought is beyond appetizing. He risks a glance at Akaashi, who’s carefully evaluating Tsukishima, eyeing him slowly from head to toe. He then checks on Bokuto, who is staring at the prince, his wide owl eyes unblinking and a ghost of a smile hanging on his face. Kuroo sees the exact instant his boyfriends come to the same conclusion he has. He gives a small nod, and they respond in kind. 

Kuroo smirks, wits fully returned, and steps in front of Tsukishima. “Well, princess,” he says, taking the sword back in one swift move, “looks like you’ve got yourself a deal.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow us on tumblr [here](https://amateurbunburyist.tumblr.com/) and [here](https://maudit-innocent.tumblr.com/)


	2. Silver Tongue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to everyone who read the last chapter! much love ~

“Do we—tie him up?”

“Tied up? With all that rope you don’t have? I can’t wait.” Tsukishima can’t find it in himself to be surprised at their incompetence. Seriously, he’s here willingly, why would they need to restrain him? “Can you hurry up? I’m bored.”

In reality, he’s starting to feel claustrophobic, even in the ballroom with it’s high ceilings. He’s too close to freedom for patience. 

“Patience, princess,” says the one with the bedhead. 

“You do have an escape route, right?” Tsukishima says. 

Tsukishima tried once--to sneak out of the castle. He waited until dark, lied to Yamaguchi, gave his guards the slip, and climbed out a window. He walked around town a bit, but there was no one out. Even if there were, it’s not like he really wanted to talk to anyone. The whole experience was boring, annoying, and _not_ worth the effort. He hasn’t done it since. 

The one who’d been dressed as a girl at the party rolls his eyes. “This is a bad idea.”

His dress is replaced with a simple black outfit. Tsukishima can’t say he minds the swap. 

“Meh, I’ve had worse.” The one who looks like some kind of demented owl grins at Tsukishima. 

“Relax,” Kuroo mocks, hooking the sword over his shoulder, “we’ve got Tsukki on our side now.” 

“I don’t even know your names.”

“I’m Kuroo, the owl is Bokuto, and the pretty one is Akaashi. Can we go?” Kuroo gestures behind him.

Bokuto comes over to Tsukishima, who eyes him warily. Tsukishima startles when Bokuto knocks out his knees and grabs his back, picking him up bridal-style. He squawks before he can stop himself.

“Put me down! I’m not a sack of potatoes,” Tsukishima protests, half shouting. He squirms wildly around in Bokuto’s arms, to no effect. 

Bokuto grins down at him, his face alarmingly close. “No luck, Specs. We gotta at least pretend we have control over you, yeah?”

“Bokuto,” Akaashi says in warning.

“What? I’m not doing anything!”

Akaashi doesn’t push it, only squints and moves to the exit. Tsukishima stops struggling; the only thing more humiliating than being carried would be being dropped on his ass. 

Their escape through the stables goes off without a hitch; Kuroo carries the sword, Bokuto carries Tsukishima, and Akaashi keeps an eye out. Tsukishima has lived in this castle his whole life. If it was as simple as just walking out the side door, maybe he’d have snuck out more. 

Bokuto must see something on his face because he responds to Tsukishima’s unanswered question. “I know a guy who works in the kitchens; he’s keeping the guards patrolling this area distracted for us.”

“Didn’t ask. Can you put me down yet?” 

Bokuto only laughs, and grips him tighter. 

“Bokuto, are you really going to carry him the entire way? And you won’t even _try_ picking me up?” Tsukishima frowns at the idea that they’ve had this argument more than once.

“This is a special occasion!” Bokuto isn’t bothered at all by Tsukishima’s weight if the skip in his step is any indication.

“Are we really doing this? Kidnapping a prince?” Akaashi interrupts.

“Seems like it.” Kuroo seems resigned, already over this situation. “I doubt he’d go back now, even if we decided to bail.”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Tsukishima snaps.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Princess, we’ll be sure to pay more attention to you. Would you like some tea? A massage?”

Tsukishima doesn’t respond except to tighten his grip around Bokuto’s neck. Bokuto notices and gives him a slight smile in apology. 

They eventually arrive at an empty crossroads somewhere in one of the less wealthy districts. Akaashi starts walking, but is stopped in his tracks by Kuroo clutching his shirt. “Wait! Wait. Let’s think about this. Do we really want to take Tsukki home?”

“Course we do,” says Bokuto with a grin. He finally puts Tsukishima down, only to throw an arm around Tsukishima’s shoulders, who shakes him off with an annoyed huff.

“Are you _sure_ ?” insists Kuroo. “He would be in our house. Everyday. Looking like _that_.”

Tsukishima stares at him, unsure if he should be confused or insulted. Is it because he’s so recognizable?

“I don’t get—oh.” The street’s poor lighting does nothing to hide Bokuto’s blush. “No, yeah, you’re absolutely right, Kuroo. It wouldn’t be uh, safe for him to stay with us.”

Akaashi sighs but doesn’t argue. “Where do we take him then?”

“Coach’s house is our best bet.”

“Will he even be up at this hour?”

“Are you kidding?” Kuroo smiles. “There’s no way he isn’t.”

“Yeah,” continues Bokuto, “the man hasn’t slept since the stone age.”

Kuroo tugs on Tsukishima’s sleeve as Bokuto pushes him forward. They reach their destination not five minutes later—the backdoor of a shop. Akaashi knocks a rhythmic code against the wooden door, and it takes less than thirty seconds for it to be whipped open.

“Keep it down! You’re gonna wake up Takeda.” The man behind the door looks exhausted, a cigarette loosely hanging from his lips and his blond hair a barely contained mess. Tsukishima notes the stained apron worn over plain clothes, evidence that he’s still working, even at this hour. 

“Ah, our bad, Coach.”

The sentiment does nothing to appease him. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“But it’s an emergency!” says Bokuto.

Coach opens his mouth to answer, but shuts it again as he does a double take, eyes settling on Tsukishima. “Is that who I think it is.” It’s not a question.

“Unfortunately.” Akaashi sounds tired.

Coach nods in understanding. “No.” He moves to shut the door. 

Kuroo shoots forward and jams his foot in the doorframe. “Wait! At least hear us out.”

“I know what you’re asking,” says Coach, yanking the door back open, “and the answer is _no_.”

“Come on,” whines Bokuto. “Just for a few days.”

“I am _not_ ,” Coach says in a whisper that feels more like a shout, “keeping the fucking _prince_ inside my _house_. Do I look like I have a deathwish?!”

“Deathwish?” says Bokuto, purposefully obtuse. “That’s dumb, look at him. The guy is so skinny he couldn’t even break spaghetti in half.”

Tsukishima feels his bored expression break as his eyes shoot daggers at Bokuto. What was with these guys? He could be dangerous. 

Before any of them can say anything further, a sleepy voice is heard from inside the building. “Ukai? Is everything okay?”

Coach slips his head back indoors. “Of course, hon. Go back to bed, I’ll be there in a minute.” He turns back to face them, looking like he’s one wrong word away from throwing a punch. “You,” he whispers aggressively, “Go home, sleep your eight hours, and for the love of all things holy, try not to get yourselves executed.”

The door slams shut.

Kuroo blinks. “Well that didn’t work.”

“Tsukki gets to come home with us!” Bokuto exclaims. Tsukishima can’t say he shares his enthusiasm.

They travel through neighborhoods made of small stone houses and cheaply paved streets, walking as quietly as their boots will allow, and Tsukishima registers none of it. He doesn’t think he’d be able to put a foot in front of the other if Akaashi wasn’t keeping a steady hand on his arm. Kuroo and Bokuto have sped up ahead of them, playfully shoving each other around. 

He ran away from home. He’s out of the castle, in hiding, hanging around with _criminals_. It’s when he trips on the uneven ground, too lost in thought to watch where he’s walking, that Akaashi speaks up. “Are you okay?”

Tsukishima blinks out of his stupor, smoothly readjusting his features into a confident expression. “Please, I’ve never been better.”

He’s faked his arrogance more times than he can count; the other royals gave him plenty of opportunities to practice. He’s used to putting on a brave face, to feigning control over the situation. It doesn’t work this time. Akaashi slows down, forcing Tsukishima to match his pace. “It’s completely normal to be a little freaked out.”

Tsukishima stubbornly keeps his eyes forward and puts on his smuggest look. “Seems to me like you guys are the ones in over your heads.”

His heart is beating a mile a minute. He knows he needs to calm down, but everything he’s done tonight is crashing down on him. He risks a glance at Akaashi, and regrets it almost immediately. Akaashi is looking at him with dark blue eyes, his face carefully blank, and Tsukishima feels like disappearing into the floor. Suddenly, every expression feels too revealing. 

Akaashi’s hold on his arm tightens ever so slightly. “You’re in good hands.” He smiles softly. “They may not look like it, but they know what they’re doing. It’s going to be fine.” 

Tsukishima lets his shoulders relax, letting himself believe it despite his better judgment. He swallows, willing his smirk to stay on his face. “Do _you_ know what you’re doing?”

“Calmed you down, didn’t I?”

Tsukishima fights back a smile, reluctant to give him this victory. Akaashi, unsurprisingly, sees right through him. “Come on,” he says, “let’s catch up.”

Tsukishima isn’t sure what he was expecting when they finally reach the hideout. A cave full of gold coins, or a secret door in an abandoned building. Instead, their home is a stone house, slim and at least three floors, jammed in between two other identical houses. The windows are installed in seemingly random spots in between uneven bricks that give the place a frail look, as if too strong a breeze would blow it over. 

Tsukishima eyes it uneasily. He follows the other three past the heavy front door anyway.

Kuroo makes a sweeping gesture. “Home sweet home.” 

Tsukishima takes it all in. It isn’t all that impressive, if he’s being honest. Most of the walls are plain wood, with dark stained wallpaper in places. There’s a rickety staircase that leads upstairs in the corner; the rest of the room is occupied by a basic kitchen and small dining table. 

They lead him up to the top floor, where they introduce him to the room he would call home for the time being. “Hope our guest bedroom is to your liking, princess,” says Kuroo. Tsukishima is almost too tired to glare at him. Almost. 

There isn’t much to the room, either. The walls are bare, and inside is nothing but a dresser, a small bed, and a window. 

“There’s some spare clothes in the dresser,” Akaashi informs him. Tsukishima is grateful for the option to change out of his royal uniform from the party hours ago. He wants to get rid of any reminders of the palace. 

And just like that, Tsukishima is alone. He changes and lies down on the stiff mattress.

The first big decision of his life. Admittedly, he may have gone a tiny bit overboard. But it was _his_ decision. And he couldn't bring himself to regret it. 

He stares at the cracked ceiling, heart in his throat, nerves frayed, and smiles.

  
  
  


****

  
  


Tsukishima sleeps like shit. By the time the sun rises, his neck is stiff and his eyes burn. He couldn’t stop reacting to every sound, every noise. In his rooms at the castle, he’s far away from everyone else; it’s dark, silent, and the guards and servants have long since learned not to wake him up without good reason.

But here? Moonlight streams through his window and the flimsy curtains do little to stop it. The house is old; it creaks and groans and every single time, Tsukishima jumps, thinking that they’ve found him, they’re going to bring him back to the castle.

He gives up on sleep around seven, the ill-fitting bed clothes wrinkled from his restless night. Not bothering to fix his disastrous hair, he stumbles out of his room and down the noisy stairs to the kitchen. Bokuto is there, making himself a cup of tea.

“Akaashi, do we have any—oh!” Bokuto turns and starts when he sees Tsukishima. His eyes linger a moment too long on the mess on top of Tsukishima’s head. “And I thought Kuroo’s hair was bad.” 

Tsukishima usually had a servant braid it before bed to keep it under control. Last night, he’d been too tired to bother, but it was really too long to be left to its own devices like that. It’ll be a bitch to untangle later, but for now Tsukishima has more important concerns. 

He points at the chipped mug Bokuto is holding, who hands it over without question. Tsukishima wraps both hands around it, relishing the warmth. He’s been chilly since they left the castle, his fingers numb. 

Bokuto eyes him carefully. Tsukishima sniffs at the tea. It smells fine, so he takes a long gulp. Tsukishima isn’t sure why he expected it to taste different than the stuff at the palace. 

“Thanks,” he says belatedly, remembering his manners. 

“Of course. Your Highness.”

“Tsukishima.” At Bokuto’s confused look, he explains, “Call me Tsukishima, not your Highness.”

“I’m sorry, Tsukki!”

Tsukishima drinks his tea to hide his irritation. Tsukki. It sounds strange, coming from anyone but Yamaguchi. That’s what he gets for coming here: a bunch of people who have no reason to do as he says. Tsukishima liked that thought a lot better in theory. 

Bokuto pours out a replacement cup of tea for himself, only to immediately ignore it in favour of tidying the kitchen. It’s only then that Tsukishima notices just how messy the room is. There’s an old travelling cloak draped over one of the dining chairs, along with several pairs of gloves randomly thrown around the floor. Tsukishima watches with mild concern as Bokuto painstakingly removes a series of knives embedded in the kitchen’s far wall. 

Bokuto cleans and Tsukishima watches in bored silence until Akaashi joins them. He walks into the room, scans it until he sees Bokuto, then crosses the room with a purpose that’s at odds with the slippers he’s wearing. 

Tsukishima watches in shock as Akaashi walks into Bokuto’s personal space and wraps his arms around his waist, hiding his face in Bokuto’s chest. 

“Come back to bed, it’s too early,” Tsukishima barely hears him mumble. 

Bokuto laughs and looks at Tsukishima. “Someone has to keep an eye on our guest. Go without me.”

Akaashi groans in displeasure, burying himself further into Bokuto’s shoulder. Tsukishima suddenly finds the bottom of his cup to be absolutely fascinating. He hadn’t realized just how close those two were. It makes sense, he supposes. Bokuto grins at him and Tsukishima makes a point not to give him the satisfaction of reacting.

Bokuto pats Akaashi’s head, letting him cling to him. “Do you want some tea? Or are you going to try to sleep some more?”

“You know I won’t be able to.” Akaashi releases Bokuto to grab himself a cup before sitting beside Tsukishima. They exchange a tired look, and that’s all the morning greeting either of them needs.

“Should we wake Kuroo up?” Bokuto asks. 

“You know how he gets when we do that. We can wait. Tsukishima isn’t going anywhere.”

“We need to discuss your ransom note, Specs,” Bokuto explains. 

“Is this what thieves do in their free time? Sit around and wait for each other to wake up?” Tsukishima was hoping this would be more exciting. He could have done this in the castle.

“It hasn’t even been one day. Don’t worry, we’ll show you a good time.” 

Tsukishima doesn’t know what to do with Bokuto’s salacious grin, so he ignores it.

Akaashi finishes his tea with a groan. “Hey Bo, can you—” He’s interrupted by Bokuto dropping what looks like a small stone and a rag in front of him. “Right, thanks.”

Akaashi blindly reaches under the table. There’s a small click, followed by a hollow metallic noise, and suddenly Akaashi is holding onto a long knife. Tsukishima stares. Akaashi starts to sharpen it without a word. 

Eventually, they hear the stirrings of Kuroo rising—footsteps, a door opening, someone on the stairs. 

When he appears in the doorway, all three sets of eyes are on him. His bedhead is somehow worse today, and he’s rubbing his eye. With them all looking at him, he stops, smirks, then says, “Bokuto, Akaashi, princess. Good morning.”

They wait while Kuroo sips his morning tea. Halfway through his mug, he speaks. “Okay. Ransom notes. Ideas?”

“I guess we can’t just drop a letter at the palace that says we have the prince, huh?” Bokuto grimaces, leaning back in his chair.

“If we’re messing with the royals, we can’t afford any fuck ups,” Kuroo says. The other two nod. 

Tsukishima hadn’t considered the danger this put them in, not really. The coach’s comment about execution hadn’t registered last night, but it feels more real here. 

Anyways, it’s not Tsukishima’s fault. They could have said no.

“We should have left a note while we were there,” Bokuto bemoans.

What? No, they shouldn’t have.

Tsukishima realizes that they’re staring at him. He must’ve said that out loud. 

“If you have an opinion, princess, we’d love to hear it,” Kuroo says sweetly.

Tsukishima sits up straighter. “I thought your goal was to make some cash. If you want any of this to be worth it, you need to wait long enough for them to panic.” Not that Tsukishima thinks _panic_ is the response his parents are going to have, but he isn’t going to let _that_ slip. “You need to wait for the missing posters, the reward money, the _pandemonium._ They have to be desperate enough to let their guard down and pay way more than they should. They have to be willing to let you get away with it.” 

Tsukishima is used to attention, as a prince, but not like this. All three of them are staring at him intently, listening to his words seriously. It’s different than the polite interest from most of the nobles at the palace. Bokuto grins. “Talk about showmanship. Kuroo, take notes.”

Kuroo gives him a side eye, then turns back to Tsukishima. “I guess you’ll be here a bit longer than we thought, princess. I hope it’s up to your standards.” Tsukishima makes a face. “But that doesn’t solve the problem of how to get our ransom letter to someone in charge.”

“What about Hinata?” Bokuto suggests. “He could plant it on the crown prince, or someone close to him. He’d never get caught.”

Kuroo hesitates. “Do we want to risk bringing him into this mess? I don’t want to spend the next year comforting Kenma if Chibi-chan gets himself killed.”

“This is literally the only thing he’s good at, Kuroo,” Akaashi argues. 

“Fine. We’ll wait two weeks, then send Hinata in to plant a ransom letter. Until then, Tsukki stays in the apartment and lays low.” Kuroo looks at them as Bokuto and Akaashi nod in agreement. “We can figure out the details later.” 

It’s a decent plan; the next hurdle is the handoff. Getting the money without getting caught will be hard. Not that Tsukishima particularly cares if they do, but he doesn’t want to get hurt in any altercation that might occur. 

“Great!” Bokuto claps his hands. “What do we do with Tsukki in the meantime?”

They look at him and he narrows his eyes. Kuroo tilts his head, thoughtful. “I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

****

Once breakfast is over and one with, Bokuto and Kuroo leave to run errands. Tsukishima stays back at the house with Akaashi, wasting time watching him sharpen and polish knife after knife. His supply seems infinite, and Tsukishima isn’t quite sure where they’re coming from, but he finds Akaashi’s precise and attentive motions on each blade transfixing.

At first, Akaashi tells him about what the others are doing in town. Kuroo spends every morning with an old informant friend of his, while Bokuto makes the rounds around the markets, checking in on his many contacts, while also taking the opportunity to do some grocery shopping. Eventually though, a comfortable silence settles in, and Tsukishima doesn’t notice the time passing. He’s too busy taking in Akaashi as he works, his focused eyes, the movement of his lean yet strong looking arms, the dexterity of his slim fingers. If Akaashi notices him staring, he says nothing of it.

Kuroo and Bokuto return some time later. They waltz into the house in high spirits, snickering as they shove each other through the door. Kuroo takes the upper hand and manages to push his way in before Bokuto. 

Bokuto lets out an indignant noise. Kuroo only laughs harder and Akaashi sighs fondly at the sight. 

Tsukishima suddenly feels as though he’s intruding, and turns his head the other way, letting them have their moment. He isn’t quite sure why watching them interact like this makes his cheek warm, but he decides not to look into it too much, for sanity’s sake.

Bokuto dumps a cloth bag on the table, making Tsukishima jump and snap out of his thoughts. “Hey, hey, hey! Guess who got us some free food?” He’s grinning, clearly proud of himself.

“How’d you swing that?” asks Akaashi.

“Coach was feeling generous today, apparently,” Kuroo answers for him.

Tsukishima raises a questioning eyebrow, and Kuroo is quick to fill him in. “That building we visited last night? It’s a bakery.”

“Among other things,” mumbles Akaashi.

“Shhh,” says Bokuto with a laugh. “Coach runs a very respectable”—he winks exaggeratedly—“business.”

“He runs a front, I get it.” Tsukishima leans back and crosses his arms.

“It’s still the best bakery in town,” says Bokuto. He pulls out a croissant from the bag and practically shoves it in Tsukishima’s mouth. “Taste this!”

He has no choice but to eat it, lest he choke to death. Surprised, he makes an approving sound through his mouthful. It takes him everything he has to fight back a blush at how pleased Bokuto looks.

Akaashi eyes the bag skeptically. “You got that for free?”

“Sorta. I only paid for about half of it.”

“They’re our friends, Bo. We can’t just take things from them, you should’ve paid for all of it.”

“I tried!” Bokuto whines. “Coach wouldn’t let me. He kept saying Tsukki looked too thin. Takeda-sensei came to talk to me too, gave me this whole speech about friendship and stuff. He went on for a while, and there was this whole metaphor about a bridge... To be honest, I didn’t get most of it, but the point is,” he says, sitting down with a smile, “we got ourselves some lunch. Eat up!”

They chat for a bit. Bokuto and Kuroo do most of the talking, with Akaashi humming in agreement here and there, and Tsukishima doing his best to eat as slowly as possible. It didn’t take him long to realize that the moment he finishes one pastry, another is forced into his hands.

Finishing his last bite, Akaashi asks Kuroo, “So, how’s Kenma?”

Kuroo leans back into his chair, resting an arm behind his head. “There’s good news and bad news. The bad news is that Kiyoko’s boss has been tormenting the new girl a lot. She hasn’t ended a day this week without tears.”

Bokuto grimaces. “Yachi? She’s a total sweetheart.”

Kuroo nods once in agreement. “Which leads me to the good news,” he says, his second hand joining the first behind his head. “I found us our next target.”

****

That evening, Tsukishima finds himself in Kuroo’s “office” (a plain room with a small desk and enough loose paper to completely cover the floor), watching him draw over building blueprints. 

His day was spent reading the few books laying around the house, though none of them were all that interesting to him. Most of them were written in heavy legal jargon or complex scientific terminology. According to Akaashi, they had all once been needed for some heist or another. Go figure.

The sun had set not too long ago, and the other two had bid them goodnight. Tsukishima wanted to do the same, but knew his nerves would never let him calm down enough to sleep. The magnitude of what he’s doing keeps hitting him at random times, and he knows that sitting in a dark room with nothing but his own thoughts will only make it worse. Fuck, he’s spiralling again. He needs a distraction. “What are these plans for?” he finds himself asking.

Kuroo lifts his head from the sea of paper on his desk, eyebrows raised. “You interested?”

Tsukishima shrugs, trying to look dismissive. 

Kuroo smiles knowingly. “Alright, come here then.”

Tsukishima steps closer to the desk and takes a better look at what Kuroo’s been working on.

“This,” Kuroo says, pointing at the building plans, “is Nohebi Manor; the place where Kiyoko works.”

“And the place you’re robbing.”

“Yup.” Kuroo clicks his tongue. “The Lord of Nohebi is throwing a party in a few days. Events—when alcohol is involved, at least—create a lot of chaos and confusion for the security staff. That’s when we’ll go.”

Something occurs to Tsukishima. “Why are you trusting me with this?”

“You gotta have faith, princess.” His smile turns smug. Tsukishima can’t help but be unimpressed. Trusting him, for no reason? These people are idiotic.

“I’ve got almost everything figured out,” continues Kuroo. “There’s just one tiny issue left that I can’t seem to fix.”

“What’s that?

Kuroo leans closer to the map, and Tsukishima mirrors him. “Here,”—Kuroo circles the area in question—“is the staircase that leads to the cellar. That’s where our target is. Problem is, Nohebi is very protective of his stuff, and appoints a guard there at all times, party or no.”

Tsukishima’s eyes skim the plans. “Can’t you create some kind of diversion?”

Kuroo shakes his head. “There are enough guards stationed around to check on anything suspicious; he wouldn’t just leave his post. What we need is someone to go over and talk to _him_ specifically. But with everything else we gotta do, I’m not sure that’s feasible.”

Tsukishima hums in understanding. He’s busy thinking of a solution when he feels something soft tickle his forehead. Curious, he lifts his head in time to see Kuroo do the same. It was Kuroo’s hair that grazed him. Concentrated on the map, Tsukishima hadn’t realized just how close they were. Kuroo meets his gaze, and Tsukishima feels incapable of looking away. 

Kuroo has these bright, golden eyes alive with mirth and full of intelligence. Tsukishima can feel Kuroo’s warmth, is close enough to feel him breathing. All thoughts of the heist vanish from his mind. Their staring match lasts another second before Kuroo blinks, then grins. “Like what you see, princess?”

Tsukishima jumps backwards, cheeks on fire. He’s about to find an excuse to leave and avoid any further embarrassment, but is stopped when Kuroo speaks again. “Ah, that’s too bad.” he sounds dejected. “I just had an idea, but now I don’t think you could pull it off.”

Tsukishima mulls this over for a moment. Him? Participating in a heist? 

It would be dangerous. It would be absolutely nonsensical. And it would be thrilling like nothing else had ever been. 

Tsukishima’s eyes snap back to him, narrowing when they catch sight of his smirking face. “What are you talking about?”

“I thought that, maybe, _you_ could be our distraction.”

Kuroo goes on, unaware of Tsukishima’s dilemma. “I was thinking that you could chat him up a bit…”

He finds himself nodding along

“...keep him busy…”

Yeah, he could do that.

“... maybe even flirt a little.”

He could definitely do that.

“But—”

Tsukishima stops. But?

“Seeing you get all flustered like that, just from a bit of eye contact”—Kuroo sighs in mock disappointment—“suddenly, I’m not so sure it’d be a good idea.”

“I can do it,” affirms Tsukishima. 

“I don’t know…”

“I. Can. Do. It.”

Kuroo eyes him, calculating. He smiles. “Course you can, princess,” he says, stepping around his desk. “Then I guess we have some work for you tomorrow.”

“What?”

“Flirting lessons!” says Kuroo, much too pleased with himself. “Watch out for Bo. He was able to seduce _Akaashi_.”

Tsukishima stares in mild horror as Kuroo slips past him and out of the room, a sinking feeling in his gut that he’d just been played.

  
  


****

“The key to flirting isn’t being charming and funny, it’s making _them_ think they’re being charming and funny.”

“Touch their arm,” Bokuto adds. “Not too much, you don’t want to be creepy.”

“Laugh at their jokes! Ask questions about them! Treat them like they’re the only interesting thing in the room.”

Tsukishima nods, committing their advice to memory. 

“You want to draw attention to your best features whenever possible.” Bokuto looks Tsukishima up and down. “Your….uh. Yeah. Just all of that, really.” He gestures vaguely at Tsukishima, who narrows his eyes. 

Kuroo’s hand is under his chin, considering Tsukishima carefully. “Uh—most importantly—be nice, yeah?” Kuroo’s expression is doubtful, and Tsukishima bristles.

The bombardment of flirting advice goes on for a while, until finally, Tsukishima is ready to put it into practice. Kuroo volunteers Bokuto as the first target. He stands against the wall, hands behind him and back straight, getting into character as the guard. 

Tsukishima closes his eyes for a moment. He’s never been the flirting type, and that isn’t about to change any time soon. For this to be believable, he needs to become someone else entirely. He is no longer, Tsukishima, the prince with standards. He is now a random party guest, flirty and a little desperate. With that in mind, he opens his eyes and focuses them on Bokuto.

Putting his dignity aside, Tsukishima lets his eyes roam over Bokuto, and waits until they make eye contact before biting his lip. He knows he’s being a bit intense, if Kuroo’s muffled snickers are anything to go by, but he’s determined to do this right.

He saunters over to Bokuto. “Good evening.”

“Hey,” Bokuto answers, too casual. He remembers himself at the last second and readjusts his soldier-like posture. “Enjoying the party, Sir?”

“I must admit, I was finding it quite dull… That is, until I saw you.”

Bokuto’s face twitches. “Is that so?”

Tsukishima nods. “I found myself compelled to come speak with you. Isn’t that strange?” 

“I suppose.”

“Then again,” continues Tsukishima, reducing the space between them, “I’ve always been drawn to exquisite looking men.”

Bokuto meets Tsukishima’s eyes for a brief moment. “You exaggerate, Sir.”

Tsukishima gives him his best innocent look. “Are you calling me a liar? Such a nasty accusation in response to an _honest_ compliment.” 

Tsukishima can see the tip of Bokuto’s ears reddening under his intense gaze. “Pardon me, Sir, that wasn’t my intention.”

“You may have my forgiveness.” With boldness he wasn’t aware he had, Tsukishima reaches over to softly pet the tips of Bokuto’s wild hair. “In exchange for more time in your company.”

Bokuto’s face is now just as red as his ears. Assuming his job done, Tsukishima steps back and turns to the others. “Like that?” he asks after no one says anything. 

“Yeah, just do exactly that. You okay, Bo?” Kuroo slaps Bokuto’s shoulder and he jumps. 

“Yep, you got it. Great job, Tsukki.” Bokuto musters up a smile. 

“That should be enough. Do you feel like you can pull this off, princess?”

It isn’t that hard, Tsukishima thinks. The most difficult part is probably going to be trying to seem interested. Tsukishima nods. 

“One more thing,” Akaashi says. He goes to Tsukishima and slips his thick-framed glasses off his face. 

Tsukshima blinks, adjusting to the now blurry room. If it wasn’t for their hair, Tsukishima isn’t confident that he’d be able to tell them apart. He can’t see their faces, but he can still feel three sets of eyes on him. He resists the urge to squint, knowing it won’t help him see. 

One of them whistles—Bokuto?—long and slow. “Damn, Akaashi, you’re a genius.”

That’s enough of that. 

“Can I have my glasses back?” Tsukishima ignores the whiny tone that just came out of his mouth and crosses his arms. _“_ I can’t _see._ ”

“That’s too bad. You won’t be able to wear them under the mask.” Kuroo pauses. “Tsukki, if you can’t do this—”

Tsukishima sighs, cutting him off. “At least I won’t have to be exposed to your ugly faces all night.”

He holds his hand out to the Akaashi-shaped blur, and he dutifully gives him back his glasses. Tsukishima slides them back onto his face. Bokuto and Kuroo sport matching grins. 

“Gentlemen? I think his highness is ready.”

Tsukishima is ashamed to admit that, for once, he has to force his patented bored expression. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry to people who wear glasses but have you seen tsukki without his glasses? effervescent
> 
> follow us on tumblr [here](https://amateurbunburyist.tumblr.com/) and [here](https://maudit-innocent.tumblr.com/)


	3. In For A Penny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LED: i've been letting Witty answer all the comments, because they're much better at it than I am, but trust me when i say that they mean a lot to both of us <3 Thanks for reading~

Tsukishima is sitting on the floor of the guest bedroom, staring out the window at the setting sun. After a week of anticipation, the day of the heist is finally here. Tsukishima isn’t sure if he’s feeling nervous or excited. Probably a nasty cocktail of both. He knows what he has to do, but that’s all—Kuroo was tight-lipped about the details. Tsukishima doesn’t even know what they’re stealing, only that it’s in the cellar. 

Tsukishima is wearing the clothes they gave him—a white shirt, black slacks, and shoes that are both comfortable and unassuming. It won’t draw any undue attention, “but keeps him fuckable,” as Bokuto said. 

He’s settled between Akaashi’s legs as Akaashi brushes some kind of dark chalky substance into his hair. 

“Is this going to come out?” Tsukishima complains as Akaashi yanks on his hair for the umpteenth time. 

“It’ll be fine,” Akaashi replies, which isn’t an answer. Tsukishima huffs. 

Eventually, Akaashi steps back, declaring his job done. Tsukishima pulls a strand forward to inspect it—it’s dry, matte. But definitely not blond, and that’s what matters. 

“Stop touching it,” Akaashi says, smacking Tsukishima’s hand away. Tsukishima doesn’t move his hand at first, wondering how to react—he remembers Akaashi’s knife collection and decides he can let it go this time. 

That finished, Akaashi passes a brush through Tsukishima’s hair, styling it for the party. Tsukishima unintentionally leans into the touch, but if Akaashi notices, he doesn’t say anything. He starts braiding deftly; it’s an amazingly pleasant experience. Definitely better than the castle’s harsh stylist, who always pulled on his hair.

Bokuto grins at them from where he’s lounging on the bed, inciting a glare from Tsukishima. “Feels pretty great, yeah? Akaashi used to braid my hair all the time.”

“Only because you refused to learn how to do it yourself,” Akaashi says, unimpressed, and ties off Tsukishima’s braid. 

“Hey, you’re the one who insisted I had to tie it back. I was fine without it.”

“You kept getting hurt because you couldn’t see, Bokuto.” Akaashi taps Tsukishima’s shoulder and stands, stretching, as Tsukishima gets up off the floor. 

“Are you ready to go?” Kuroo walks into the room, adjusting the sleeve of his waiter uniform. He gives a slow smirk at the sight of his new hair. Tsukishima looks away.

Bokuto whoops in agreement. In Tsukishima’s experience, that’s never a good sign. 

****

They arrive at the Nohebi mansion without issue. The building is as large as it is conventional, made of ordinary red brick and black roof tiles. It’s sparsely decorated with lanterns and ribbons around its doors, but the party’s biggest give away is the long stream of masked guests making their way inside. Tsukishima is more than happy not to be one of them. 

Learning that their chosen point of entry is a rear window twenty feet above the ground is almost enough to make Tsukishima give up right then and there. But watching Akashi scale the side of the building, full of grace and as discreet as a shadow, has him changing his mind pretty quickly. Watching him climb is the same as watching him polish his knives: beautiful and mesmerizing. 

Tsukishima eyes the rope that Akaashi drops with trepidation, but Kuroo and Bokuto don’t let him hesitate for long. He manages to climb it just fine until he has to clamber, undignified, through the window. His sole consolation is watching the other two struggle just as much as he did.

Once inside, Tsukishima carefully tucks his glasses away in favour of donning his mask. They hurry to the main hall downstairs and join the crowd of the party, unnoticed. Tsukishima immediately blends with the other guests, Bokuto and Kuroo fall into their roles as waiters, and Akaashi slips out through the service door.

Tsukishima doesn’t bother looking around. He’s seen a thousand of these parties; posh and disgustingly over decorated. He quickly spots the guard protecting the staircases leading to the kitchen and cellar. Tsukishima can only make out her hair’s brownish colour; the rest of her appearance is lost to the blurriness. 

Starting a conversation is almost too easy. All it takes is a few pointed questions and some eye contact and her focus is entirely on him. He’s no stranger to this game, but it’s been a while since anyone expected him to play it. He’s cultivated his standoffish reputation well—it doesn’t always work as planned, but at least he can get away with looking visibly uninterested in what people are saying to him. His parents have long since given up on getting him to pretend. He’s polite enough. 

Bokuto slipped down into the cellar soon after Tsukishima grabbed the woman’s attention, his servant’s uniform going unnoticed. Kuroo should be joining him soon, if everything goes according to plan.

Tsukishima shifts his weight, feeling his eye beginning to twitch from keeping up his _wow-that’s-so-interesting_ face for so long. Hopefully, she won’t be able to tell with most of his face covered.

His mask is unremarkable in the sea of disguised party guests. It’s dark, with just enough ornamentation to blend in with the extravagance of the rest of the room, and Tsukishima’s normally blond hair is a matching shade of black. The others assured him that the mask and dye would be enough to make him unrecognizable… for now. Their deadline is 8:30, when the masquerade ends and everyone reveals themselves for dinner. Tsukishima doesn’t want to find out what would happen if people were to see his face.

Tsukishima catches sight of Kuroo over the guard’s shoulder. He’s headed down to the cellar, his stupid hair sticking out. 

“And then what did your sister do?” Tsukishima prompts the guard as she starts to flag in her story. It starts her up again and Tsukishima keeps his eyes on her, instead of watching for Kuroo to reappear, as he’d rather be doing. 

Tsukishima wishes he’d asked how long this was going to take. He underestimated how stressful this would be, waiting for them to emerge. Realistically, he knows it hasn’t been that long—she’s still talking about her sister—but he can’t stop the anxiety from setting in anyway. If they were caught, where would that leave him? If someone discovered who he was, if they found him out... He doesn’t even want to consider what would happen then. 

The clock is ticking, much too quickly for Tsukishima’s liking, and the party begins to move to the dining room. Where everyone is expected to reveal themselves. Not good.

It’ll be fine. He’s still talking to the guard, he has a reason to stay here. He can put off leaving long enough for their escape to go off as planned. 

He holds onto that thought as the room empties, slowly but surely. It’s fine. It’s _fine_. 

“And then she—oh my, I didn’t realize how long I’d been talking! You have to go, sir, don’t you?” She smiles sweetly and Tsukishima curses internally. 

“I’d much rather stay here.” Tsukishima tries a charming smile—he suspects it comes out as more of a grimace, but she doesn’t seem put off. 

“No, no, I couldn’t keep you here! Don’t you want to get rid of that pesky mask?” She taps the edge of the mask lightly, smirking as if she’s being cute, and Tsukishima barely stops himself from flinching. 

A quick glance around the room shows that all of the party guests are gone. He’d give anything to see Kuroo or Bokuto right about now.

“I like the mysteriousness of it all, don’t you? More fun this way.” Tsukishima winces at how stupid he sounds—mysteriousness, really?—but she blushes anyway. 

“I really shouldn’t keep you from the party, sir, as much as I’d like to. Please, I insist, go enjoy dinner before it gets cold.”

How much more can Tsukishima insist that he doesn’t want to leave before it gets suspicious? His palms feel clammy. 

Something bumps into him and he startles. He looks down, realizes his white shirt is seeping red—has a disconcerting moment where he thinks its blood before he smells the overwhelming scent of wine. 

The glare he sends Kuroo isn’t faked. So much for being relieved to see him. This is the distraction he mentioned? Asshole. 

Kuroo is frantically apologizing. The guard pushes him away from Tsukishima, and Kuroo tries to show remorse with a bow. He bends in half and the tray in his hands topples over with him, splashing all over Tsukishima. The small stain on his white blouse disappears under the deluge of wine that now covers him from head to toe. 

“Go get another clean shirt!” the guard barks at Kuroo, face red with anger. “Now!” A far cry from her earlier flirtations.

Kuroo bows again, careful to keep both hands on the tray this time, before briskly walking away. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Tsukishima can see Bokuto pushing a waiter cart behind them. The guard pays him no mind, too focused on her pointless attempts at trying to save Tsukishima’s shirt. She crouches and starts dabbing him with a handkerchief. 

Her fingertips keep grazing his chest, and she sends up the occasional coy smile. He has to look away before she starts batting her eyelashes. All he can do now is pray that Bokuto’s distraction happens sooner than later. 

At this point, all of the guests have migrated into the east wing, leaving Tsukishima completely alone with seven guards, one of which has her head between his legs. Saying he’s uneasy would be quite the understatement. The more eyes on him, the more likely it is that he’ll be recognized, mask be damned. And right now, all the focus is on the tall guy coming out of the wine shower. Super. 

Tsukishima is trying to think of an excuse that would make sprinting out of the room seem socially acceptable when it happens. Outside, someone begins screaming. “HELP!! FIRE!!! Somebody help!” 

Tsukishima recognizes Bokuto’s voice too easily. His eyes widen under his mask. There’s no way Bokuto really— 

A guard rushes from the dining room to the back door and is immediately flooded in bright orange light. 

Everyone freezes. 

The hall devolves into chaos as every guard rushes from their posts to the back gardens. The guard he’s been seducing leaves him be ( _finally_ ), telling him that she’ll be back as soon as possible. 

Tsukishima waits for the last of them to go before heading out himself. He blinks at the blurry sight in front of him, and fumbles to swap back his mask for his glasses. In the center of the garden is a singular large rose bush, burning bright and illuminating the guards in a warm light. One of them is stepping away from the group to the stone well at the far edge of the yard. The others are simply standing there. If Tsukishima didn’t know any better, he’d guess he was looking at a campfire, not… arson. 

He steps back, doing everything he can not to draw any attention to himself, and moves to the side of the garden that connects to the nearest street. 

His efforts prove completely unnecessary. No one even notices he’s there; it’s like he’s invisible. Everybody is solely focused on the fire. The single guard returns with one of the already filled buckets resting by the well and throws its contents onto the bush. 

Tsukishima takes a shocked step back in time with the guard. Instead of going out, the fire roars and burns even higher, forcing the guard to drop the bucket and shield his face. The others scatter in a panicked scramble as they make for the other filled buckets, only for the same thing to happen again and again. 

In no time at all, the flames spread to the plants nearby, into the flowers and trees, wrapping around them like vines, until the entire garden is on fire. The flames are everywhere, forming a burning wall across the lawn. Even several yards away, Tsukishima can feel the heat on his face. It’s as if he’s accidentally stumbled into hell. 

His feet are rooted to the ground. In the back of his mind he knows he should be moving, getting away while he still can, but he just can’t get his legs to move. Any moment now, something will catch him. A bystander, a guard, the fire… He needs to _go_ , but he’s—he’s swept up into the air by a strong arm wrapping around his torso. 

He lets out a yelp and clutches onto the body that’s grabbed him, all too aware that his feet have yet to reconnect with the ground. He knees bump into something soft and moving, and Tsukishima realizes he’s half climbed onto a horse, his other half dangling off it as it runs down the street. His eyes meet its rider’s. “Get on, would you? You’re heavy,” says Akaashi, much too calm for the situation. 

Tsukishima does as he’s told and clambers onto the saddle behind Akaashi; it isn’t graceful by any means, but he succeeds nonetheless. 

At this speed, it’s impossible for him to keep his hands to himself. He clutches onto Akaashi’s waist and prays he doesn’t get shrugged off. 

Akaashi surprises him. “You’ll need to hold on tighter than that if you want to stay on.”

He doesn’t hesitate, sticking his front to Akaashi’s back. Tsukishima’s heart is still beating a mile a minute from the stress of his last second rescue, but he feels it start to slow down as he presses himself further into Akaashi. He’s warm and solid, and the sudden drop in adrenaline Tsukishima is experiencing makes him want to melt against him. 

He lets his eyes close and rests his head on Akaashi’s shoulder. For the first time since he’s left the castle, he feels completely safe. 

“Comfortable?”

And just like that, his heart rate picks up again. Tsukishima could feel Akaashi’s voice rumble in his chest, and is suddenly made aware of just how close they are. His face is practically buried in Akaashi’s neck. He smells warm. 

Tsukishima shudders. “I was closing my eyes to avoid looking at your terrible form. Is this your first time riding a horse?”

Instead of answering, Akaashi turns his head towards him, bringing their faces that much closer. Tsukishima can feel his breath on his lips when he speaks. “You can always hop off, if this isn’t to your liking, Your Highness.” 

Tsukishima blinks, frozen, before jerking back, hands still holding onto Akaashi’s waist. He can’t be sure from the back, but it looks like he’s laughing. Bastard. 

They turn a corner onto a mostly empty street where they’re joined by a second horse, this one carrying Kuroo, with Bokuto resting against his back. Kuroo smiles when he reaches them, and the horses fall into step, galloping side by side. They ride in silence until they reach a small stable, where Kuroo pays a stablehand and Akaashi picks up the saddle bags. Their loot, presumably. 

They start walking back to the house, and Tsukishima makes it three whole streets before he cracks. “What the _fuck_ happened back there?!”

Immediately, Akaashi squints at Bokuto. “What did you do?”

Bokuto raises his hands in surrender. “Nothing I haven’t done before, I swear!”

“That doesn’t really narrow it down,” says Kuroo.

Akaashi’s eyes narrow even further. “I thought you were just going to set a bush on fire.”

“I did!” Bokuto says, defensive.

“That wasn’t the problem,” says Tsukishima, grimacing. “It was the water.”

Bokuto rubs at his neck. “Well, yeah. I did sabotage the buckets that were next to the well. I wanted to make sure Tsukki had enough time to get away!”

Akaashi stops. “How.” It doesn’t sound like a question.

“I put cheap booze in the buckets.”

“ _All_ the buckets?”

“Yup!”

“ _Why?_ ”

“I didn’t know which one they were gonna use, so I figured it’d be safer to just booze up all of them.”

“Dear god,” Akaashi says to the sky. 

Kuroo sighs. “We’ll have to go back tomorrow and make sure the mansion isn’t just a pile of ashes.”

Tsukishima nods, mildly horrified.

They start walking again, leaving Bokuto behind to glance frantically between them. “It’s not that bad, right? I mean— It’ll be okay, right guys? Guys?”

****

Back at the house, Tsukishima spends an hour locked in the bathroom, peeling off his wine sticky clothes and scrubbing the dye out of his hair. When he finally steps out, he doesn’t have to wonder where the others are. He can hear the muffled yells of an overly excited Bokuto coming from the kitchen.

Tsukishima decides to go join them. He just risked his life, he deserves to at least know what _for._

The sight that greets him at the kitchen’s entrance makes him regret his decision immediately. The room smells like the oil lamps littered about the room, mixed with the strong stench of alcohol. Bokuto is describing his version of tonight’s events, while Kuroo digs through the cabinets for glasses and Akaashi struggles to open a wine bottle with a hunting knife. Bokuto keeps being interrupted by Akaashi calling him an idiot and Kuroo telling him to shut up, but it does nothing but encourage him. 

Tsukishima doesn’t belong here.

He steps back slowly, hoping they haven’t noticed him yet. 

No luck. Kuroo sees him out of the corner of his eye and immediately turns to face him with a grin. “Princess! Took you long enough.”

Tsukishima blinks, unsure how to respond.

Bokuto looks just as happy to see him. “Hey, hey, hey! Come have some wine, Tsukki!”

Tsukishima glances at Akaashi, still taken aback by the joyous welcome. Instead of the frown he was expecting, Akaashi just shrugs at him before pouring four glasses of wine. Tsukishima can see a dozen or so other bottles packed onto the counter.

He joins them, a confident smirk on his face. “That’s all you could get in the end?” he says, mocking. “Unfortunate.” 

Bokuto looks at him with wide eyes. “What do you mean? We got enough to fill a tavern!”

“But all you stole was wine.”

“Yes,” says Akaashi, like he’s stating something obvious.

Tsukishima frowns at the cup in his hands. He thought for sure they’d be after… whatever it is that thieves want. Jewels? Gold? “Is it worth a lot?” 

Akaashi shrugs again. “Probably.”

“Doesn’t matter,” cuts in Kuroo. “So long as it gets us nice and wasted and pisses off a duke or two.”

“So youre not… selling it?”

Bokuto laughs. “Why would we do that? We worked so hard to get it!”

Tsukishima takes a second to consider this. “Are you telling me that you scaled the wall of a mansion, crashed a Lord’s private party, dumped an entire cellar on me, and _committed arson_ for…fun?”

Three voices answer him at once. “Yeah.” 

In lieu of responding, Tsukishima starts to drink. He makes quick work of his first glass, and Akaashi pours him another before he even has to ask.

The rest of the evening progresses slowly, with the others talking louder and louder the more they drink and Tsukishima working hard to pretend he isn’t listening. Eventually, the wine starts affecting him, too, if the heat in his cheeks is anything to go by. It’s time to call it a night. His attempt at excusing himself, however, is met with strong opposition. 

“Nooo,” whines Bokuto. “You can’t leave, we just got started!”

“Yeah, princess,” says Kuroo. He reaches over to grab Tsukishima’s arm, but quickly retracts it under his stern glare. “Keep us company a little longer.”

Tsukishima doesn’t understand them. He’s just been sitting there in silence for the better part of an hour, why are they so insistent on him staying? He hasn’t exactly been the life of the party. “I did a lot today, I’m allowed to go to sleep.” 

Kuroo gasps in mock outrage. “Does His Majesty not find us entertaining?”

Tsukishima is tempted to lie, but that hasn’t worked out too well around these three so far. Truth is, he rarely thinks their conversations boring. Ever since he met them, he’s found them fun to be around. But if he stays any longer, his drunk self is sure to make an appearance. And Tsukishima would rather die than not be in complete control of himself around them. “I think right now, even my pillow has more interesting stories to tell.” 

Kuroo leans forward in his chair, resting his arm on the table and his head on his hand. “I’m sure we could find a way to make things more fun for you.” He pauses, and his smirk widens. “Princess.”

“Oh, yeah, let’s play a game!” exclaims Bokuto.

Tsukishima doubts that was what Kuroo was insinuating, but if he minds the shift in tone, he doesn’t show it. “That’s a great idea, Bo.”

“What game?” Tsukishima asks, weary.

“How about Lying Drunk?” Bokuto is much too pleased with his suggestion.

“Sure,” says Akaashi. “We haven’t played in years.”

“We couldn’t!” laughs Bokuto. He throws an arm around Akaashi’s shoulders. “We know each other too well. But now Tsukki’s here!”

Tsukishima hasn’t even _agreed_ to anything yet. They don’t seem to care.

“Here’s how the game works,” says Kuroo, refilling Tsukishima’s glass. “We’ll tell you two statements. One is true, and the other is a lie. If you guess which is which correctly—”

“We drink!” cheers Bokuto.

“And if not, you drink.” Kuroo puts the bottle down with a thunk. “Sound good?”

Tsukishima hesitates, and Kuroo pushes further. “C’mon, a smart guy like you, you’ll drink us under the table in no time.” He says it like he doesn’t believe a single word.

Tsukishima knows its bait. But Kuroo’s stupid smirk makes him take it anyway. “Yeah, sounds good.”

“Excellent,” says Kuroo with a clap of his hands. “Akaashi, wanna start us off?”

“Fine,” grunts Akaashi. He stops, thinking of his statements. “Kuroo spent his teen years as a street magician.” Kuroo bubbles a laugh in his wine and Bokuto grins. “Bokuto once stole a necklace right off Lady Hana’s neck.”

Tsukishima eyes them slowly. Akaashi looks impassive, Kuroo, cocky, and Bokuto, gleeful. He’s not getting any information from them. He knows Lady Hana, has met her at a few parties; she’s frivolous and a bit of an air head. He can easily imagine her getting her clothes stolen off her back. Well, more than he can imagine Kuroo pulling a rabbit out of a hat. “The true one is the Lady Hana story.”

Akaashi smiles softly. “Correct.”

Kuroo and Bokuto cheer as the three of them drink much more than necessary. 

Kuroo wipes his mouth, shaking his head. “He had to pretend to be a hairdresser to pull it off. That poor woman must’ve had to wear wigs for months.”

“My turn!” says Bokuto. “Kuroo and I met in jail, and uh…I used to dye my hair red.”

Tsukishima glances at Bokuto’s bicoloured disaster of a haircut. “The jail one is a lie.”

Bokuto rapidly hits the table, grinning like a madman. “Nope!”

Tsukishima’s head whips to Kuroo. “Really?”

“Really really. Now drink.”

Tsukishima clicks his tongue, annoyed, but sips his wine anyway.

Kuroo clears his throat. “Let’s see. We got too drunk and stole a fishing boat. We did a scam that required us to spend an entire month pretending we were ghosts.”

Tsukishima stares at him, disbelieving. Both options sounds too stupid to be true. He picks one at random. “The ghost one is a lie.”

“Wrong again, princess.”

“You can’t be serious.”

Akaashi nods somberly. “As a heart attack. It was hell.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” says Bokuto, rubbing his forehead against Akaashi’s hair. “We had fun!”

“How did you even make any money doing that?”

Kuroo takes another swig of his drink, laughing. “We pretended to be mediums for hire. We’d fuck with the place at night—break some trinkets, paint symbols on the mirrors, scratch up a wall or two, and spend the day blaming it on evil spirits. The rich assholes were so damn scared, they paid us a fortune.”

“All we had to do was mumble some latin and wave some candles around,” says Akaashi.

“See what I mean? Fun!”

Akaashi turns his head away to smile.

The game continues like this for a long while, and Tsukishima quickly loses track of time. The alcohol is making him more argumentative, and each round lasts far too long when each detail is debated to death. Still, no one complains. The conversation is lively and often hilarious to Tsukishima, who’s finding it harder and harder to hold in his laughter. 

The other three have gotten progressively closer over the course of the game, with Bokuto practically in Akaashi’s lap, one hand holding onto Akaashi’s neck and the other buried in Kuroo’s hair. Tsukishima pretends not to notice. He’s having too much fun to interrupt it with awkward questions anyway. Their latest story has him giggling into his glass. “In broad daylight?”

Bokuto is cackling. “Yup! They just let us walk out with all his stuff! It was insane!”

Akaashi sips his wine, face still mostly blank but his cheeks reddened by the alcohol. “The entire ground floor was empty when we were done. We even took the furniture.”

Bokuto nods vigorously. “The couch was a bitch to carry though.” He frowns a bit, but a short bump on the shoulder from Akaashi has his million watt smile back in a second.

“Proof that people will let you get away with anything if you look like you know what you’re doing,” Kuroo says. The more he drank, the quieter he got. _More affectionate, too_ , Tsukishima thinks as he watches Kuroo dig his head further into Bokuto’s hand. 

“Okay, last one,” slurs Kuroo. “I kept a pet squirrel as a kid. We’re the ones who created the Arima art movement.”

Even drunk, Tsukishima isn’t stupid. He knows the Arima movement was created by, well, Lord Arima. “The squirrel one is true.”

Tsukishima’s eyes dart between the three smug smiles before him. The smiles they wear when he loses. “I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true!” Bokuto pouts.

Tsukishima wants to argue, but for some reason, Bokuto’s sad face bothers him. He relents. “How did you do it?”

Bokuto breaks out into giggles and Akaashi sighs. “It started the day Kuroo saw Arima yelling his lungs out at a stableboy.”

“The poor kid was in tears!” Kuroo clicks his tongue. “I recognized Arima pretty fast. It’s kind of hard not to, if you’ve seen any of his art before.”

Tsukishima finds himself nodding in agreement. He’s never been a fan of Lord Arima’s work. He only paints one thing: an endless stream of self-portraits, all of them poor attempts at embellishing reality.

“So we broke into his gallery,” continues Kuroo. “Stole a few paintings for some quick cash, and vandalised the rest. We had a lot of time on our hands, though, so we decided to get creative. Akaashi added stuff like mustaches and ugly glasses. I wrote things like… What was it I wrote?”

“‘Don’t forget to burn this?’” ventures Tsukishima, eyes widening in realization.

Kuroo snaps his fingers. “Yeah! And Bokuto drew animals over them. His birds are kind of impressive actually.”

Bokuto gushes at the compliment, tugging Kuroo even closer to him. At this point, all of them are practically sharing a chair.

Tsukishima barely notices, too busy coming to terms with the fact that— 

Bokuto refills his glass. “Instead of throwing out his collection like we thought he would, he opened the gallery anyways! And people loved it! The guy made a fortune.”

Tsukishima can’t hold back any longer. He bursts out laughing, louder than he ever has. 

His father, his art _adoring_ father, had spent entire evenings praising Lord Arima’s artistic genius after that exhibition. He’d bought a quarter of it himself, had spent crazy amounts of money on those paintings, saying they were the face of an artistic revolution. It’s just too funny.

They’re all staring at him, but that just makes him laugh even harder. 

“Is he okay?” Bokuto says in a failed attempt at a whisper. Kuroo shushes him. 

There are tears coming out of Tsukishima’s eyes; he’s keeled over, his gut hurts.

When he finally calms down, only the occasional giggle slipping out, the other three are looking at him with—fondness?

The way they’re all cuddled together is starting to bother Tsukishima’s drunk brain. Not because he minds it, he really doesn’t care, just—he thought it was Bokuto and Akaashi, yet Kuroo is clearly not the odd one out here. 

“How… close are you three?” Tsukishima asks before he can stop himself. 

“There are two bedrooms in this house, and you’re staying in one of them. Do the math, princess.” Kuroo is having trouble keeping his eyes open as he leans into Bokuto. 

Tsukishima’s never seen their bedroom. Do they sleep all over each other like this? It seems… warm. 

He realizes they’re watching him, varying degrees of dread on their faces, waiting for him to respond. He shrugs. “Okay.”

“It doesn’t bother you?” Bokuto asks. Tsukishima frowns. 

“Why should I care? Do whatever you want.” He kind of cares. A little bit. He’s never seen this much affection before in his life; it’s overwhelming, when he thinks about it. 

He doesn’t want to think about it.

“See, I told you Tsukki would be cool.” Bokuto grins into Akaashi’s neck.

“No one said he wouldn’t be,” Akaashi says, patting Bokuto’s head. But Kuroo is looking at Tsukishima and he doesn’t know how to interpret his stare. This quiet Kuroo is confusing, weird. It’s startling to realize that Tsukishima is familiar enough with Kuroo to notice the difference. 

They’ve finished the current bottle of wine. Drunk as they are, none of them think it's a good idea to open another—Tsukishima is glad, he feels dizzy, like the world is shifting beneath his feet. He wants to _sleep._

Getting all four of them up the stairs is a challenge in and of itself, but they manage it. Tsukishima moves to go to his room, ignoring the fact that they’re all going into the other one without him, but is stopped by Bokuto slurring his name. 

Bokuto wraps him up in his arms and Tsukishima goes rigid. When was the last time someone hugged him? What does he do with his hands? 

“Goodnight, Tsukki,” Bokuto says into Tsukishima’s shirt. 

Tsukishima pats him on the back once, twice. Drunk Bokuto doesn’t pick up on his awkwardness. 

Thankfully, drunk Akaashi is more perceptive. “Bokuto, let him go. You’ll see him in the morning.” 

Bokuto releases him after one too-tight squeeze. He steps away, and Tsukishima feels cold.

“Night, princess.” Kuroo salutes him. 

“Goodnight,” Tsukishima replies. Bokuto grins; they leave. 

And Tsukishima goes to sleep, in his borrowed bed, alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the nohebi mansion is based off of the Lady Boyle mission in dishonored because one of us has been a tiny bit obsessed with the game over the last few weeks
> 
> follow us on tumblr [here](https://amateurbunburyist.tumblr.com/) and [here](https://maudit-innocent.tumblr.com/)


	4. Riches to Rags

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *throws glitter* have some kagehina

Tsukishima wakes up the next morning with the worst hangover of his life. His mouth is full of cotton, his head is full of bees, and the food in his stomach is fighting to stay there. He struggles to sit up in his bed, blinking at the window. Has the sun always been this bright? 

The only other time he’s gotten that drunk was when he and Yamaguchi stole some spirits from the kitchens when they were fifteen—they spent an evening laughing in the courtyard and avoiding their responsibilities. It was fun, until the next day, when he threw up in a meeting with his parents’ advisors. Since then, he’s avoided getting too drunk. Until, of course, _fucking Kuroo_. 

He steps out of the bedroom, confused. The house is terribly quiet. It’s unusual, this early in the morning; he could normally hear Bokuto and Akaashi chatting in the kitchen, or Kuroo working in his office, still awake from the night before. But all Tsukishima can hear is silence.

He walks around the house, searching for anyone awake, and finds nothing but empty rooms. He returns upstairs, deciding to check on the master bedroom. Maybe they’re still asleep? 

He slowly pushes the door open, careful not to make too much noise, just in case. He stops short. 

On the large bed in the center of the room is Akaashi, curled up on his side with his face buried in Kuroo’s chest, as if trying to make himself as small as possible. Kuroo is wrapped around him, messy hair obscuring his face. 

Seeing them like this makes him feel strange. There’s a weird pulling sensation in his stomach, urging him to step forward. It’s almost as if he wanted— Like he wanted to— 

The sound of the front door opening has him jumping out of his skin. He quickly backs away and down the stairs, feeling as if he’d been caught doing something forbidden. 

Down in the kitchen, Bokuto is there waiting for him, bag of pastries in his hand. “Rise and shine, Tsukki! How’re you feeling?”

In response, Tsukishima groans, swallowing down a gag. His body isn’t about to let him forget the previous night.

Bokuto chuckles and slides him some bread. “Eat! You’ll feel better.”

Tsukishima seriously doubts that’s true, but sits at the table anyways. “How are you so chipper?”

“Hangovers are like anything else. They get easier with practice.”

Just _thinking_ of eating makes him want to vomit. Bokuto laughs at him, and leans next to his face, much too close for comfort. “Eat it, eat it, eat it!” 

Tsukishima bites into the bread. Anything to make Bokuto shut up. Any sound louder than a pin drop is too loud for his aching head right now.

Bokuto sits across from him, radiating energy. “I was walking around the townsquare on my way back here, and news on the street is” —he pauses, leaning in like he’s about to reveal a secret— “the prince is _missing!_ ” He opens his eyes and mouth wide in faked shock.

Tsukishima pauses his chewing for a second before swallowing, throat dry. “And?”

“And it’s got people really excited!”

“‘Excited’? I didn’t expect the masses to be so hungry for gossip.”

Bokuto waves one hand and reaches into the pastry bag with the other. “No, that’s not it. People just assume that whoever finds you will get some gratitude money from the royals.” He takes a large bite of bread and speaks through his mouthful, “It’s like a nationwide treasure hunt!”

Tsukishima frowns. “They assume? You mean they haven’t offered a reward yet?”

“Nuh uh. Just a plea in the papers for any ‘information regarding the prince’s whereabouts’,” he says in air quotes. “But that means we should start working on the ransom note soon, right?”

Tsukishima takes another slow bite. Bokuto stares at him, and Tsukishima realizes the question wasn’t rhetorical. “I suppose.” Then Bokuto’s words finally register to Tsukishima’s hungover brain, and he quickly shakes his head. “I mean—No, no, not yet. We uh, need to wait a bit longer. Now just—isn’t the right time.” He isn’t ready to leave. Not yet, not so soon. 

Luckily, Bokuto doesn’t question his odd answer. He shrugs. “If you say so.”

Tsukishima bites the inside of his cheek. He has to come up with a better excuse for the future. The simple idea of going back to the castle now makes him feel worse than the hangover, and he doubts his lack of reason is going to work on the other two.

****

That evening, Kuroo, Bokuto and Akaashi all stand up as soon as they’re done eating dinner. Tsukishima looks at them questioningly—he’s been here long enough to realize they have a routine in place. Food, then they hang out until it’s time for Akaashi to go to bed. Bokuto either follows him or disappears out the door only to return late at night. Kuroo doesn’t sleep until the wee hours of the morning— Tsukishima should know, he’s spent enough time this past week watching over Kuroo’s shoulder as he works on everything and anything. They don’t go out very often, and when they do, someone always stays behind with Tsukishima. 

“Sorry, Tsukki, we have an important meet-up at the tavern,” Bokuto says sheepishly. “Gotta figure out how to slip the royals the ransom.”

Tsukishima pauses his picking at what’s left in his plate, frowning. “Already?”

Kuroo tilts his head at his surprise, and Akaashi squints. “They announced your disappearance in the papers.”

Tsukishima scoffs, careful not to look any of them in the eye. “It’s only been a week. My parents aren’t even offering a reward yet. Now is too soon.”

“We still need our friend’s help,” says Kuroo. “Better hire them now than at the last minute.”

Reluctantly, Tsukishima nods. 

Akaashi slaps his shoulder as he walks by him. “We’ll be back later tonight.”

“You have the house to yourself for a few hours!” 

“Try not to burn it down!” Kuroo singongs.

The front door slams shut.

Tsukishima is still sitting at the table, surrounded by empty cups and dirty plates. 

He barely even thinks before he’s decided. He’s up and grabbing a cloak that was flung in a pile on the floor—it must be Akaashi’s, it’s too short for him but it has a hood and that’s all he needs—and is out the door himself. If they’re talking about him and his ransom, he needs to be there, whether they like it or not. 

He gets out the door and realizes he has no way to lock it. He hesitates for a second before letting it go. If they didn’t leave him _out_ , then this wouldn’t be a _problem_. 

He can see them up ahead, walking. It’s just far enough away that he can’t hear Bokuto; an impressive feat, considering his wild hand motions. Tsukishima pulls his hood closer to his head, hoping he hasn’t made himself more obvious by wearing the heavy cloak despite the fair weather. At least the sun is setting; it’ll be easier to hide in the dark. 

He follows them, feeling ridiculous as he ducks in and out of doorways whenever he thinks they might look behind them. What’s his plan? Why is he doing this? Is the risk of being found out really worth it?

He gets caught up in his thoughts and realizes he’s lost them. Did they turn the corner, or—

He’s shoved into the wall of the alley he just exited. There’s a body pressing into him and he feels cold steel press into his throat. A knife. 

“Who are you and why are you following us?” Tsukishima barely recognizes Akaashi’s voice as he snarls. He yanks Tsukishima’s hood down and visibly starts. 

“Tsukki? What the hell?” Bokuto exclaims from behind Akaashi. Akaashi’s frowning at Tsukishima, still holding him against the wall like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. 

Tsukishima raises his chin above the blade, showing a faux smile. “I didn’t want to get stuck with the dishes.” He feels like an idiot—at getting caught, at doing it in the first place—but he doesn’t let it show in his voice. 

Kuroo crosses his arms. “There’s a reason we didn’t bring you, princess. Do you want to get recognized by a bunch of thieves? Not everyone is going to be as nice as we are.”

“Should I take him home?” Akaashi asks. 

“He’d just follow us again.” Kuroo eyes him shrewdly. Tsukishima shrugs. 

“I guess Tsukki could… come with?” Bokuto says. “We can put him in the corner and keep his hood up.”

Akaashi glares, but says nothing. He sighs and lets Tsukishima go, finally. “Fine. Stay close, and make sure no one can see your hair.”

The rest of the walk is short, and they stay quiet until they arrive at the tavern. 

It’s cheaply built with blackening stone, blending in with the rest of the street. There’s a wooden sign hastily nailed above the door that reads _The Third Thief_ . Tsukishima raises an eyebrow at it; this is a popular criminal hangout? They could’ve at least _tried_ to be subtle. 

The door’s rusty hinges creak as Kuroo knocks it open. The tavern is dimly lit, and the smell of smoke and old booze hits Tsukishima as soon as he walks inside. The place is packed with people, filling the room with loud conversation and raucous laughter. All of them carry at least one visible weapon. Tsukishima _doesn’t_ shrink to hide behind Kuroo, but it’s a close call. 

He’s too busy warily scanning the room to protest when Kuroo takes his arm and leads him to the back, where there’s an empty table tucked into the corner. Akaashi shoves him down into the middle and he and Bokuto sit on either side of him, boxing him in. Kuroo sits on the chair facing him, effectively hiding him from the other patrons. He should feel trapped, but honestly, he appreciates having his back against the wall and three people he sort-of trusts with him. 

During the heist, he was in a more thorough disguise, surrounded by the same nobility he was raised with. As much as he thinks that he doesn’t belong there, it’s nothing compared to how he feels here, in this tavern surrounded by criminals. 

Bokuto leaves them to go to the bar; he isn’t gone for long, sloshing mead over the table as he puts down four large pints. 

“Since you’re here, you might as well know. We’re meeting an expert pickpocket. His name is Hinata, he’s an old friend of ours,” Kuroo explains, taking one of the pints for himself. Bokuto places one in front of Tsukishima, who doesn’t touch it. 

Tsukishima laughs, disbelieving. “You’re asking a wallet thief to sneak up on the most well guarded person in the country?” 

Kuroo rolls his eyes and leans against his chair, throwing his arm over the back of the empty seat beside him. “We trust Hinata and his partner. They’re more competent than our.. Usual crowd.” 

At that moment, a loud clattering sound is heard from the other side of the tavern. They all turn towards the noise just in time to see a gruff looking drunk punch another square on the jaw, making him stumble backwards. The rest of the bar stares in morbid anticipation as he regains his footing. He shakes his head, disoriented, before bodily launching himself onto the other man, knocking over a nearby table. The patrons cheer.

Kuroo turns back to Tsukishima, who swallows.

“Don’t stray too far and you’ll be fine,” says Akaashi.

Tsukishima huffs. 

He’s watched people come in and out the door since they sat down, as if he’ll know who Hinata is when he sees him. It helps him feel like he has some control over the situation. 

Tsukishima’s world screeches to a halt when a face he actually recognizes walks in.

It can’t be, right? Why would Kageyama, of all people, be here in this dingy tavern full of thieves?

He’s coming over here. The closer he gets, the harder it is for Tsukishima to convince himself that it’s just a trick of the light. Maybe he’s hallucinating. 

There’s a short guy with orange hair walking next to him. Actually, bouncing would be a more apt description. They seem to be arguing. Tsukishima shrinks into his chair, wishing he could melt into the floor and disappear.

“Hinata!” Bokuto calls, waving his hands, and Tsukishima is flooded with relief. If he’s here, then maybe Tsukishima can still get out of here without interacting with Kageyama.

Tsukishima must’ve pissed someone off in a past life, because the orange guy, Hinata, is waving back. He’s walking over, Kageyama’s following— 

“Hey, guys! Can you tell Kageyama that it’s stupid to shower _every day_. That’s a waste of water—”

“At least I’m _clean_ , dumbass. _”_

Bokuto laughs as Hinata shoves Kageyama, who pushes him back. “Happy to see you two haven’t changed.” 

As if hearing some cue that Tsukishima couldn’t, Kageyama and Hinata stop fighting. “Nope! I’m going to get us some drinks.” Hinata skips away and Kageyama sits down. And promptly does a double take. 

“Tsukishima?”

No point holding back now. “Your Majesty.”

Kageyama flinches. “Don’t call me that.”

Tsukishima smirks, back in familiar territory. “Or what? You’ll run away again?”

Bokuto is looking at Tsukishima in shock, Akaashi has his head in his hands, and Kuroo has a single eyebrow raised. Kageyama is turning red, though whether it's from anger or embarrassment is unclear. 

Kageyama was the crown prince of the neighbouring country to Karasuno, Kitagawa. He and Tsukishima, being the same age, had often found themselves thrust together at royal functions. Tsukishima hated it—Kageyama was just another royal, full of himself and unbearable to talk to. 

It was when Kitagawa’s monarch, Kageyama’s uncle, passed away, that things took a dark turn. 

Tsukishima had been forced along to Kageyama’s coronation. He remembers the absolute _chaos_ that followed the realization that he simply wouldn’t show. The official story was that he’d simply gone missing, but most people knew better. 

Everyone had heard of the new bratty tyrant, a boy so disliked by the royal court that they planned to have him assassinated rather than accept him as their king. Kageyama ran away before they could shove his head on a stick.

Tsukishima was almost jealous of him, at the time. A perfect excuse to leave all of it behind, offered on a silver platter. If only the risk of beheading wasn’t part of the deal. 

“What’s going on, Kageyama?” Hinata plops down into his seat. Instead of responding, he grabs the drink Hinata brought for him and chugs. 

He gulps down half the mug before putting it down. “What the hell are you doing here, Tsukishima?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he replies. 

“Wait, who are you?” Hinata asks, squinting at Tsukishima. “Kageyama, who is that?”

“That’s actually what we asked you here to talk about,” Bokuto interrupts, placating. “We need your help with something that’s a bit— sketchy.”

Hinata perks up. “You need us to do some crime? We can do some crime, can’t we, Kageyama?”

Kageyama slaps Hinata’s hand away from where it’s tugging on his shirt in excitement. 

“Kageyama, you seem to know him already, but Hinata. This is Prince Tsukishima,” Kuroo says carefully. 

“You’re a prince, too?” asks Hinata, eyes wide. “Of what?”

Tsukishima frowns. “What do you mean, ‘of what’? Of Karasuno, idiot.”

Hinata doesn’t seem put off by the insult in the slightest. “That’s so cool!”

His reaction elicits a glare from Kageyama. 

“Hinata,” starts Bokuto, “my favourite student, my amazing apprentice, my fantastic chi—”

“Get to the point,” interrupts Kuroo.

Bokuto grins. “We have a special mission for you.”

Hinata lights up like a tiny sun. “Do I get to steal something?”

“No,” says Akaashi.

“But,” continues Bokuto, “we do need you to sneak up on someone.”

Hinata pouts at the news, and Kageyama half-heartedly pats him on the back. Tsukishima stares, fascinated. Kageyama went from being a ruling prince to a kleptomaniac’s babysitter and he seems… happier, somehow. His frowns have changed from when Tsukishima knew him. They’re less cranky, more fond. 

“The mission is very risky,” says Kuroo, smiling. “Dangerous, even.”

And just like that, Hinata is grinning again. “More dangerous than the water fountain job?”

“Yes.”

“More than the wolf cage gig?”

“Yup.”

“More than the Oikawa manor break-in?”

“Uh-huh.”

Tsukishima’s mind stutters. “Wait, did he just say _Oikawa_?”

Kageyama nods like a man haunted and Kuroo snickers. “He sure did. And what a _great_ time it was.” Kuroo sighs, as if remembering a fond memory. “One day, I’ll have to rob him myself.”

Tsukishima is tempted to agree with him. Stealing from the insufferable bastard seems like an amazing evening out. Kageyama and him were worlds apart in most things, but their displeasure at seeing Lord Oikawa at parties was something they’d always had in common. Not to mention the flock of adoring women that followed him everywhere, no matter what. Oikawa getting married to another man hadn’t stopped them, and Tsukishima has more than once wondered what would.

Hinata squirms, impatient. “Tell me the mission, tell me, tell me!”

“We need you to sneak a letter into the pocket of” — Bokuto pauses for dramatic effect— “the king!”

Hinata gasps, then frowns, head tilting like a confused puppy. “Wait, our king? Like, Karasuno’s king?”

Everyone nods.

Hinata points at Tsukishima. “Isn’t he your dad? Why can’t you do it?”

Tsukishima sighs and Bokuto takes a minute—or ten—to explain the situation. Eventually, both Hinata and Kageyama agree to help, going as far as refusing payment for the job. Apparently, the two weren’t as hungry for loot as they were for a challenge.

They’ve been chatting for about an hour when a particularly loud party bursts in through the tavern door. They pause in the entryway, immediately focusing on Tsukishima’s table. There’s a millisecond of silence before Hinata jumps into the air. “You’re back!”

The scene that follows is pandemonium. There’s a cacophony of greetings from everyone involved, mixed in with tight hugs and harsh handshakes. At some point, the shortest of the bunch actually jumps on Kageyama’s shoulders, who takes it like it's a common occurrence. 

Bokuto invites them all to sit at their table. Tsukishima gets shunted to the edge, watching in horror as the group crawls all over each other in an effort to make everyone fit. They don’t introduce him to anyone, which is just as well for Tsukishima. He tries to follow the conversation for a bit and learns that the newcomers are in fact a pirate crew, friends with the other thieves, recently returned from a long trip at sea. It doesn’t take much for the semi-coherent chatter to turn into complete anarchy, with everyone laughing and yelling over each other.

Tsukishima’s head hurts again. No one notices him get up and head to the bar.

The bartender is helping someone else, so Tsukishima leans with his back against it to wait, idly watching the rest of the room. 

“It’s a bit warm for such a heavy cloak, don’t you think?”

Tsukishima glances to the side. There’s a man next to him, standing, his waist bent as he rests his elbows on the bar. He’s not looking at Tsukishima, or anything in particular. His red hair stands straight up, his limbs are long and thin; he’s unnerving to look at. When Tsukishima doesn’t reply, he turns. He isn’t so much _grinning_ as baring his teeth. 

Tsukishima feels a wave of unease wash over him. He moves to leave, figuring he can't get in too much trouble if he doesn’t say anything. He’s stopped by a spindly hand.

“Oh, stay for a minute, won’t you? It’s so boring here.”

Tsukishima, trying not to panic, throws a glance to where his—friends are sitting, hoping anyone is looking his way. Kuroo, thank god, catches his eye and starts to move. Tsukishima doesn’t want to know what face he’s making that caused Kuroo to react instantly. 

“I’m waiting for a friend,” Tsukishima says stiffly. 

“Why can’t we chat until they get here? I’m Tendou. And you are?” He leers at him. Tsukishima stays silent. Tendou’s eyes are searching his face, amused and half-lidded. “Cat got your tongue?” 

Kuroo is weaving through the crowd towards them. Tendou reaches forward and Tsukishima goes rigid as he adjusts Tsukishima’s hood. It’s only then that Tsukishima realizes how close it had come to slipping and revealing his signature hair. He can’t read Tendou’s face, can’t tell if he saw, if he knew what it meant. He’s still sporting the same manic grin he’s been wearing this entire time. 

Then Kuroo’s there, pulling Tsukishima behind him. “Leave him alone, Tendou.” Kuroo knows him? Of course he does. 

Tendou holds his hands up, but the gesture is undercut by his insouciant expression. He doesn’t protest, letting Kuroo lead Tsukishima away.

He leans into Kuroo unconsciously, breathing out a sigh of relief. 

“Did he recognize you?” Kuroo says in his ear and Tsukishima shivers. 

“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully. Kuroo tucks him tighter against him. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Kuroo says but his face is still tight. Tsukishima hates it. 

Kuroo’s arm is still solidly gripping his shoulders when they reach their table. He looks at him when Tsukishima moves out from under his arm and says, “Hey, watch this.” 

Tsukishima puts a finger over his lips, telling a confused Kuroo to be quiet, then sneaks up behind Kageyama. Akaashi and some of the pirates look at him questioningly, but Kageyama is arguing with Hinata and doesn’t notice. 

“Yo-ho! Tobio-chan!” Tsukishima says in his best impression of Oikawa. It’s pretty spot on, if he says so himself. He perfected it with Yamaguchi, who would always berate him for making fun but giggle anyway. 

Kageyama startles so bad he falls out of his chair. Tsukishima bursts into laughter, along with the rest of the table, Hinata giggling so hard he almost joins Kageyama on the floor.

Tsukishima looks away to glance at Kuroo. He’s standing there, face blank, and Tsukishima has a moment of concern, thinking he’s made his sour mood worse. 

But then Kuroo cracks a smile, looking almost proud, and gently shoves Tsukishima back towards his chair. 

He sits down, the strange encounter all but forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we may have glossed over it but yes most of the karasuno boys are pirates bc pirates are dope ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> follow us on tumblr [here](https://amateurbunburyist.tumblr.com/) and [here](https://maudit-innocent.tumblr.com/)


	5. Opposite Side of the Coin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow us on tumblr [here](https://amateurbunburyist.tumblr.com/) and [here](https://maudit-innocent.tumblr.com/)

Later that week, Tsukishima is halfheartedly trying to read while Akaashi trains in the backyard. When he complained of boredom, Akaashi shoved a book in his hand without a word, effectively shutting him up. Tsukishima followed him outside on a whim. He’s never been one for the outdoors, but he always feels awkward alone in the thieves’ home, as if he’s intruding. 

The yard is small. The fence is old, falling down in places, white paint peeling off to reveal ugly wood, but the grass is vibrantly green and there’s a tall, leafy tree providing shade in the corner. Tsukishima settles under said tree, crossing his legs at the ankle and propping open the book on his lap. 

It’s quickly forgotten. By the time he hears the sounds of Bokuto and Kuroo getting home, some time later, he’s still on the same page as when he sat down.

Tsukishima could watch Akaashi train for hours. In the afternoon sun, he fluidly moves through drill after drill in a way that looks effortless, until he pauses to drink and Tsukishima realizes how out of breath he is. Tsukishima has done his fair share of fighting lessons; he’s sure he never looked this graceful. 

Kuroo and Bokuto are shouting at each other—Tsukishima’s learnt that that’s how they communicate, quickly rising in volume until they’re basically yelling unless there’s someone there to moderate them. Tsukishima is annoyed to find that it doesn’t bother him as much as it should. 

The boisterous yells get louder until Bokuto is there, hanging out the back door, exclaiming “Akaashi’s still training, I’m gonna join him!” 

Kuroo’s head pops out next. “Tsukki!”

Akaashi looks at Tsukishima, pausing in his motions to raise an eyebrow. Tsukishima feels a smirk tugging at his lips. So much for the quiet. 

Akaashi continues on as Kuroo comes and joins Tsukishima under the tree, Bokuto presumably changing to join in. Tsukishima looks at his book for the first time since he sat down out here. It’s stupid, Akaashi probably noticed his staring, but something about Kuroo catching him watching feels different. 

Kuroo seems content to sit quietly, so Tsukishima gives reading another shot. He makes it two paragraphs before Bokuto bursts out the door in a simpler outfit than the one he’d been wearing. He starts stretching.

“You’re doing it wrong.” Akaashi walks over to Bokuto, who pouts at the words. He adjusts Bokuto’s stretch himself, and Bokuto watches him move his limbs into position with a small smile on his face. Tsukishima looks at Kuroo only to find him craning his head to see what he’s reading. Tsukishima instinctually covers the page with his hand, jerking it out of his view.

“Aren’t you going to join them?” Tsukishima asks, closing the book and setting it on the ground next to him. 

“Nope,” Kuroo says, leaning back and stretching out his legs. “I like to watch.”

Tsukishima flushes at Kuroo’s suggestive wink. Instead of replying, he looks back to the other two. 

They’ve started sparring. 

Akaashi is fast, smooth. Tsukishima saw that this afternoon, he expected it. He didn’t expect  _ Bokuto _ to move the same way. Their movements are so fast, it’s as if they’re responding to the other’s attacks before they can make them. It’s like a game of chess; always several moves ahead.

Tsukishima hears a laugh. He glares at Kuroo, who leans forward to rest his chin in his hands, crossing his long legs as he watches his boyfriends fight. 

“Bo used to be an underground fighter, you know. Akaashi trained with him.”

“That seems dangerous,” Tsukishima says carefully. It’s evident that Bokuto and Akaashi have been fighting each other for a long time. But why is Kuroo telling him?

“It is dangerous,” Kuroo agrees. “It was better than being homeless, though.”

The image pops into his head without his permission: a younger Bokuto and Akaashi, without food or a roof over their heads, desperately trying to find any way to improve their situation.

“Did it pay well?” Tsukishima wouldn’t consider that a particularly lucrative career, but it’s not like he would know.

“Enough to get them off the streets,” Kuroo says, looking at him. Something in Tsukishima’s face makes him grin ruefully. “I know, I hate the thought of it, too. But they don’t have to do that ever again,” Kuroo says, as if it’s his personal responsibility. 

“Did they stop when they met you, then?” 

Kuroo shakes his head. “Bokuto got hurt, like  _ really _ hurt. He can’t fight anymore, and Akaashi can’t play to the crowds like Bokuto can.” He pauses. “I don’t think Bokuto would be able to handle it, either, seeing Akaashi fight night after night. Akaashi probably knows that.” Kuroo’s gaze is miles away. “That happened a few months before I met them.”

Tsukishima raises an eyebrow at the scene before them, where any signs of Bokuto’s previous injury are hidden well enough that he can’t spot them. He doesn’t have to voice his question for Kuroo to answer it. 

“Look closer,” Kuroo urges. Tsukishima does, furrowing his brow. 

At first, he doesn’t know what he’s looking for and he quickly gets caught up in the thrilling fight again. Then, he realizes—Akaashi isn’t hitting Bokuto. It’s not because Bokuto is dodging; Akaashi pulls back before they land, leaving only the illusion of having landed a hit. Without watching for it, Tsukishima wouldn’t notice it; the fight moves too fast for the lack of contact to be noticeable. But—

“Akaashi isn’t hitting him.” Tsukishima winces as Bokuto lands a punch, not where he was aiming but instead on Akaashi’s arm, brought up to dodge. Bokuto doesn’t seem to be lessening his blows at all, judging by the flash of pain on Akaashi’s face. Tsukishima can’t see Bokuto’s expression from this angle. “But then why—?”

Kuroo grimaces himself. “It’s part of the practice. Akaashi has to be able to take a hit without letting it stop him from fighting. Don’t worry, Bokuto will take good care of him afterwards. He feels guilty, now that Akaashi can’t hit him back. He would go easy on him, but Akaashi wouldn’t let him get away with it.”

Tsukishima purses his lips and says nothing as they both continue to watch the fight unfold. He thinks about what he’s just been told, about Akaashi and Bokuto’s past.

He asks, “What were you doing when you met them? Why were you in jail?”

“You remember that?” Tsukishima shrugs at Kuroo’s question, his expression neutral. “I’ll tell you about me if you tell me about yourself, for a change. Why’d you want to leave the castle so bad, huh?”

Tsukishima makes a face and Kuroo laughs. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“What’s the matter, Tsukki?” Bokuto says, startling him. They’ve stopped sparring while he was talking to Kuroo; Akaashi is stretching and Bokuto is walking towards them, wiping the sweat off his face with a towel. Tsukishima stares at the way his shirt is clinging to his chest for a moment too long. 

“I told him about your past life as a super sexy pro fighter,” Kuroo answers for him. 

Bokuto makes a pleased sound at the compliment; he bends over to kiss Kuroo. It’s just a quick peck, nothing to write home about, but Tsukishima’s eyes still widen at the sight. “Do you think I’m even  _ cooler _ now, Tsukki?” 

“Impossible,” Tsukishima deadpans, trying to hide his internal panic as best he can. Of course they’d kiss, that’s a thing couples do,  _ and they’re a fucking couple.  _ Tsukishima has been determined not to  _ think _ about it, though, and then they go and do that in front of him, and now he’s  _ thinking  _ about it. Is this a thing they’re going to do in front of him from now on? Is he going to freak out like this every time? Tsukishima might prefer going back to the castle than enduring  _ that _ very special kind of hell. 

Bokuto laughs, goodnaturedly. His crazy hair is lilting after the heavy workout and a strand is falling in his face. His impressive thighs are on full display in the shorts he’s wearing; when he turns around to yell something at Akaashi, Tsukishima can’t help but appreciate his shoulders. And then he starts  _ stretching _ , right there next to Tsukishima and Kuroo, like it’s nothing. Kuroo shamelessly watches Bokuto bend and twist, because he’s  _ allowed,  _ and Tsukishima—

Tsukishima needs to go. He grabs his book, stands as gracefully as he can, and bids his goodbyes without waiting for them to argue. He flees into the house and it’s  _ fine.  _

  
  


********

That night, Tsukishima wakes up to a weight pressing down near his pillow. He blinks his eyes open to find Bokuto sitting on his mattress.

Tsukishima rises himself up on his elbows, feeling wide awake. The room is brighter than usual for this time of night. “Bokuto? Why are you here?”

Bokuto shrugs and smiles down at him. “I was starting to worry.”

“About what?”

“That you didn’t like me as much as I like you.” His smile widens. “But after seeing you watch me in the yard today—”

Bokuto moves to rest an arm on either side of Tsukishima’s shoulders. Tsukishima violently shakes his head. “I don’t kn— It’s not—”

Bokuto leans in closer, his nose brushing against Tsukishima’s. “Do you want me to go?”

Tsukishima swallows, and shakes his head again, slower.

He feels more than he sees Bokuto grin. “Good.”

Tsukishima doesn’t answer,  _ can’t _ answer, and Bokuto is so very close, and all he can see is his bright, golden eyes, and— 

Bokuto is kissing him. 

Tsukishima reacts instantly. His mouth moves, too eager, clutching to him like a man drowning. Everything feels warm and just right and all Tsukishima can think is  _ finally. _ Kissing Bokuto is like fulfilling a craving, like satisfying a hunger, like— 

Bokuto shifts to press his lips against Tsukishima’s neck and the rest of his thoughts melt away. He hovers over him, and Tsukishima wants to lift off the mattress, to touch him with his whole body and feel his warmth against his skin.

Tsukishima threads his fingers through Bokuto’s wild hair, dragging their mouths back together. Bokuto’s lips are burning his own and he wants  _ more _ . He groans. Bokuto chuckles, and Tsukishima can feel the rumble of it in his chest. 

Tsukishima surges forward, kissing harder, biting at his lips. Bokuto responds in kind, letting his weight rest on Tsukishima, pressing down against him, and  _ god _ Tsukishima needs him, needs him to move, needs him to— 

Tsukishima wakes with a start, hard. He lets out a shaky breath, willing his heart rate to go down and his body to—relax. He can still feel Bokuto’s touch and— 

He violently shuts down that train of thought. So what, he finds Bokuto attractive? He already knew that. This is fine. It doesn’t mean anything, dreams are just dreams. Bokuto is just an attractive guy, in a relationship with two other attractive guys, who share a floor with Tsukishima. None of this has to mean anything. 

He flops down onto his stomach and buries his hands under his pillow.  _ That’s all it is _ , he tells himself,  _ just unwanted physical attraction. _ He screws his eyes shut. 

It doesn’t mean anything.

****

Bokuto’s workspace makes up most of the second floor of their home, save for Kuroo’s office. Akaashi keeps to the yard, as he needs the space to train, and Kuroo, mostly focused on planning, only requires a small table. Bokuto’s specialties are much more varied. 

Windows and mirrors line the walls. Two tables and a series of stools occupy the center of the room—Tsukishima is always bumping into them whenever he attempts to walk past them. There’s a large dresser filled with disguises against one of the walls; anything from fake guard uniforms to expensive suits. Stacked against another wall are cracked safes, all of varying sizes, that Bokuto keeps around “for practice.” 

The workspace also functions like a briefing room, where they discuss ideas for upcoming heists and scams. It’s where Kuroo explains his finished plans. It’s where him and Tsukishima convinced the other two to rob Oikawa. It’s where they are now, reviewing the plan for said robbery, only a couple of hours before they set out.

Tsukishima is blankly staring ahead, sitting on a stool as far from the table as possible. The others are grouped up closer, listening intently as Kuroo repeats the plan for the thousandth time. 

“Hey, princess,” calls out Kuroo, “are you paying attention?”

Tsukishima gives him a sardonic smile. “Why would I? I already know what you’re going to say.”

Kuroo sighs. “I get that this can feel tedious, but we have to know all of this like the back of—”

“The Oikawa mansion grounds are surrounded by a stone wall that covers the entire property,” recites Tsukishima. “It’s almost impossible to climb or get over. There’s a front entrance that is always guarded. There’s also a back door, but it is kept locked at all times. We’re entering through the only section of the yard that has no wall: the decorative lake that’s right at the edge of the property. We have to swim through it to reach the yard, then run to the house in between guard rounds. It takes them ten minutes to make their way around the house, so we have a little less than that to get inside. There are no guards indoors, because Oikawa likes his privacy—”

“Meaning he wants to be able to fuck Iwaizumi on the kitchen counter—”

“Shut up, Bo—”

“—so we’re in the clear at that point. We split up; Akaashi and Kuroo go find the painting while Bokuto and I get the key to the wall’s back door and Bokuto cracks open the safe where he keeps his valuables. We take as much as we can carry, wait for the guards to pass by, get to the wall, and unlock the door.” Tsukishima stops, raising his chin at Kuroo. “Questions?”

Akaashi turns away to smile and Bokuto’s shoulders shake with stifled laughter. Kuroo presses his tongue against his cheek, shaking his head, smiling despite himself. “No, princess. That about covers it.”

They’re ready. 

****

As they walk to Lord Oikawa’s manor, just after sunset, Tsukishima realizes he has a problem. 

Since his— since last night, he’s had a hard time meeting Bokuto’s eyes. Or looking at him. Or being in the same room as him.

When Tsukishima saw him that morning, the memories flooded his mind and he turned red. Bokuto was worried that he’d gotten a sunburn yesterday, which caused him to hover uselessly over him, only exacerbating the problem. It was mortifying. Tsukishima fled, claiming he wanted to go back to bed, and then proceeded to avoid Bokuto for the rest of the day. It worked well enough, with the other two as buffers, and Tsukishima thinks he got away with his awkward behaviour. 

That’s about to change, considering half their plan has him and Bokuto alone together.

Lord Oikawa’s manor is just as ostentatious as the man who owns it. Its crescent moon shaped, with a large fountain in its center, its wall mostly composed of stained glass windows. 

When Tsukishima has attended parties here in the past, the entire property was lit up like the sun, the place full of people, and crawling with security. Tonight, the building is quiet and dark, no guards in sight. Just as Kuroo said. 

Swimming across the lake isn’t as bad as Tsukishima expected. The water hasn’t had time to lose the sun’s heat yet, and it’s surprisingly warm. 

The idea was to conduct the heist still wet, having no way to carry dry clothes with them. The first diversion from the plan occurs when Bokuto, walking out of the lake, takes issue with his shirt sticking to him like a second skin, and opts to simply take it off. 

Tsukishima can feel Bokuto’s eyes on him, but Tsukishima ignores him, desperate to keep his wits about him. 

They sprint across the lawn, soaked shoes picking up grass as they go. The yard is much bigger than Tsukishima anticipated—he’s out of breath by the time they reach the nearest side entrance. The others seem fine. He tries to breathe through his nose, pretending he isn’t as winded as he is. 

Bokuto kneels down to fiddle with the lock above the handle. He reaches into his pocket for his lockpick and puts into the keyhole. He pauses. 

“What’s wrong?” Akaashi whispers. “Hurry up.”

Instead of answering, Bokuto looks up at him, face blank. Maintaining eye contact, he blindly grabs and twists the doorknob. The door opens. 

Kuroo shrugs, making his way inside. “That was easy.”

They follow him, quiet, and Tsukishima softly closes the door behind them. They’re in a service corridor, behind the kitchens. There are staircases at both ends. 

As planned, they split up, Kuroo and Akaashi going one way and Bokuto and Tsukishima going the other. 

It’s silent and pitch black inside the mansion; Tsukishima has to slow down his walk to avoid bumping into any furniture. Most of the hallways have large, floor to ceiling windows, but dark curtains prevent any moonlight from coming in. 

Kuroo has shown them the blueprints to the house at least a dozen times, so Tsukishima leads the way without issue. 

Bokuto follows him, calmer than Tsukishima has ever seen him. He’s so quiet, Tsukishima feels the urge to turn around every few feet, just to make sure he’s still there. He resists, however, as every time he does, he’s met with Bokuto’s very naked chest. And that’s—distracting.

Oikawa’s office is on the highest floor, and they reach it with relative ease. Once inside, Tsukishima goes to the window, making sure the curtains are shut tight, before turning on the desk lamp. Light floods the room, and Tsukishima deflates. “Oh god.”

Along every wall are wooden cabinets, tall and large; all together, there must hold at least a hundred drawers. And Tsukishima will have to open each and every one until he finds the key to the outside wall’s back door. He sighs and turns to Bokuto. “Any idea where the safe might be?” he asks, struggling to keep his gaze above Bokuto’s neck.

Bokuto, zoned out, jumps at the question. “They usually keep ‘em under the desk.” He walks to it and reaches under, knocking against something, and there’s a weak metallic sound. Bokuto smiles faintly. “Found it!”

Tsukishima opens his mouth to say something but cuts himself short. Now that the light is on, he can see Bokuto properly for the first time since they crossed the lake. His hair, still weighed down from the water, flattens against his head, dripping down his face and shoulders. Tsukishima’s eyes catch on a droplet falling from his neck to his chest to—Tsukishima’s head snaps back up. 

What he sees there only makes the pit in his stomach grow. Bokuto is looking at him, waiting for an answer with a shy grin, eyes bright. Tsukishima clears his throat. “There’s a jacket on the desk chair. Cover yourself up.”

He turns away sharply and gets to searching the drawers. What’s with him? Why is he this affected? He thought that, as the day progressed, the dream would fade from memory, and things would go back to normal. Instead, the—anxiety he feels looking at Bokuto has only gotten worse. 

Tsukishima has gone through about a third of the drawers when a loud noise startles him out of his concentration. It came from below them and sounded like someone had dropped something heavy.

Both of them freeze, waiting for any other sound, any sign that they’ve been heard. Tsukishima waits for a couple of minutes, and when nothing else happens, he gets back to work. He isn’t sure the noise had anything to do with the other two, but even so, he redoubles his effort to find the key, just in case. If they’ve accidentally alerted any of the guards or gotten injured, they’ll need it to make a quick escape. 

“You think Akaashi and Kuroo are alright?” Tsukishima asks. If anyone knew the risks involved, it was Bokuto.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” says Bokuto in a small voice.

His strange tone makes Tsukishima turn to face him. Bokuto’s wearing the blue jacket he’d found  _ (thank god) _ , and is resting a hip against the desk, eyes glassy. He blinks, focusing on Tsukishima. “It’s good to see you care about us,” says Bokuto. His smile is weak. “I was starting to worry.”

  
  


_ I was starting to worry.  _

  
  


_ But after seeing you watch me in the yard today— _

  
  


_ Do you want me to go? _

  
  


Tsukishima swallows down the embarrassing noise bubbling up in his throat. “We should probably try to stay quiet.” It comes out harsher than he means it to, considering he started the conversation in the first place, but he needs it to end before he says something he’ll regret. He turns back to the drawers. “Aren’t you supposed to be cracking the safe?”

There’s no answer, but Tsukishima hears the faint sounds of the lock turning, so he figures he got his point across.

They continue to work without another word, the silence only interrupted once every few seconds by Bokuto’s annoyed cursing. Tsukishima can feel Bokuto’s irritation increase as his swearing gets louder. It surprises him how agitated he sounds; he’s seen him crack safes at the house a few times, and he’s never been anything but enthusiastic. 

After what feels like a whole hour of searching, Tsukishima finally finds the key, and clenches his fist in victory. 

He’s about to tell Bokuto the good news when he hears a muted  _ thunk  _ followed by a whine.

Worried, Tsukishima peers over the desk. Bokuto is sitting on the floor, head resting against the still closed safe. “Bokuto…?”

Bokuto’s shoulders droop and Tsukishima can hear the pout in his voice when he says, “I’m sorry, Tsukki, you’ll have to do this heist without me.”

“What are you talking about?”

Bokuto unsticks his forehead from the safe to look at him, mouth downturned and eyes vacant. “I can’t get it open.”

His expression takes Tsukishima aback. He’s never seen him this upset before. “You can try again, we still have time.”

But Bokuto simply stands up and starts walking to the door, keeping his head down. Tsukishima isn’t sure what to do, the sudden switch in atmosphere giving him whiplash. Well, he thinks it was sudden. Bokuto had been smiling not ten minutes ago…

Tsukishima grabs his shoulder, stopping him short before he can return to the hallway. “Wait, we’re not done here.”

“...’m sorry.”

Tsukishima hurries to shut all the drawers he’s left open, then turns the lamp off. Bokuto’s mood has him frazzled. He knows there’s probably something he could say that would make things better, but his mind is drawing a blank. He decides to do the next best thing: think of the situation with detachment and logic. All he needs to do is find the nearest exit and join the other two with the key. He can do this.

Tsukishima wraps a hand around Bokuto’s wrist, tugging him into the hallway. 

Their walk back to the ground floor is short and silent, with Tsukishima ignoring everything in his head that isn’t the way out. He can afford to worry about Bokuto when they’re safe.

They’ve just reached the door to the yard, and Tsukishima has his hand on the handle when— 

“Can you believe these hours?”

—he hears a guard just outside.

Tsukishima’s body turns to stone. Behind him, he can hear Bokuto’s shaky breathing, and he squeezes his hand in a silent attempt to get him to be quiet. 

“Dumb as shit, right?” answers a second voice. 

Tsukishima feels the door shift and creak and realizes with a shiver down his spine that one of them is leaning against it.

The first guard grunts in agreement. “No break until the shift change either.”

They talk for a while, but Tsukishima can barely hear them over the sound of his own heartbeat. He needs to calm down. Detachment and logic, right? What are his options? He could wait until they leave, but he isn’t sure how long that will take. If he waits too long, he’ll be putting Kuroo and Akaashi at risk. 

He could just try and find another exit. But Bokuto is slumped against the wall, his strange depressed state unchanged, and Tsukishima doesn’t know how much more he can keep dragging him around.

His last option is to go off on his own, but the very thought of leaving Bokuto behind like this makes him nauseous.

“Should we take a break?” suggests one of the guards. “We can sit down inside for a couple minutes.”

Tsukishima forgets to breathe for a second, about to flee, until the other one speaks. “Nah, we ain’t allowed. Last fucker who tried got fired. This job’s crap but I need to pay the bills.”

“Fine, I guess you’re right.”

Relief fills Tsukishima.

“Shift’s over in an hour anyways.”

“We should go wait at the back door, then.”

“Nah, gotta go up front.”

“Why?”

The weight lifts off the door. “Tim’s a fucking idiot, keeps forgetting his key. The back door don’t unlock from the inside, moron! We can’t leave ‘til you let us out.”

The other guard chuckles. Their voices fade as they start walking away.

Tsukishima stares in horror. The back door doesn’t unlock from the inside. They’re stuck. 

His mind races for a solution. If he swims through the lake, back the way they came, he can open it from the outside with the key. The painting they worked so hard to steal won’t be ruined. 

Tsukishima looks at Bokuto and is met with a blank stare. 

Something inside Tsukishima’s chest crack, and he forces a smile onto his face. “Wait for me here, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Bokuto looks down at his shuffling feet. “Yeah, ‘s probably better if I don’t do anything.”

Tsukishima opens his mouth to comfort him and… nothing comes out. Instead, he gives Bokuto an awkward pat on the shoulder and flees through the door.

Why does he feel so afraid? There are only two guards, and they’re nowhere nearby. Yet, panic bubbles in his chest when he takes a deep breath and sinks into the lake. It’s colder now, but he barely notices the chill as he swims his way across.

Outside the property, he moves with energy he never knew he had, racing around the outer wall until he reaches the back door. His hands shake when he fiddles with the lock, water blurring his vision. It takes him two tries before he succeeds in opening the door.

There is nothing on the other side.

He’s shivering, his clothes weigh a tone, and a quick look down confirms that he’s lost a shoe. He wills the trembling out of his voice when he whispers, “Akaashi?”

“Tsukki?”

Out of the wall’s shadow emerge Kuroo and Akaashi, understandably surprised to see him there. Akaashi is holding the stolen painting, removed from its frame and rolled up. “We thought you were a guard.”

Kuroo tilts himself left and right, trying to see over Tsukishima’s shoulder. “Where’s Bo?”

Bokuto back at the forefront of his mind, Tsukishima doesn’t bother replying before he sprints across the lawn, dread blinding him to everything but his goal: the door hiding Bokuto.

He barely pauses to open it when he reaches it, grabbing Bokuto’s arm and running back to the wall, uncaring of Bokuto’s sluggish pace. He crosses the threshold of the wall’s back door and hears it shut behind him. They’ve made it out. 

All four of them jog for a couple minutes, Tsukishima’s nails digging into Bokuto’s wrist. Once they’re sure they weren’t followed, they stop to catch their breath in an alleyway. Akaashi and Kuroo only now seem to realize the state their boyfriend is in, and they move towards him, Akaashi already in the process of saying something reassuring. 

Tsukishima ignores them. He starts walking again, letting them lag behind, his clothes still dripping onto the cobblestone. He needs a moment alone, to calm down.

****

Tsukishima is not calm. 

“It happens sometimes,” finishes Akaashi. Tsukishima remained silent throughout their explanation of Bokuto’s mood swings, expressionless. 

They’re in the dining room. Bokuto is sitting next to Akaashi at the table, Akaashi’s arm draped over his shoulders. Kuroo is standing behind them, hand rubbing Bokuto’s neck. Tsukishima is pacing the length of the room.

The painting they’ve stolen (a very sparkly portrait of Iwaizumi, Oikawa’s husband) is laying on the table. Under normal circumstances, Tsukishima would relish the opportunity to make fun of it. 

“Tsukki…” says Bokuto. Tsukishima spares him a glance. He looks better now that he's with the others again; the light in his eyes is back. Tsukishima wishes he could be relieved, but he can’t feel anything but the anger simmering under his skin. 

“I’m sick of this.” 

“Of what?”

“This!” barks Tsukishima, gesturing at the table.

“Don’t get pissed at Bokuto,” cuts in Kuroo. “It’s not his fault.”

“I’m not mad because of Bokuto.” He deflates a bit. “We all have our issues, I get that, that’s fine, it’s—” His voice croaks through his throat, but he continues. “I’m  _ pissed _ because you knew this could happen, and you didn’t fucking say anything! You knew he could get like this, and you kept it from me! The other shit, I get. The details of the Nohebi job, the bar meeting, my own fucking ransom—” He lets out a broken laugh. “I get it, I do. You still have no reason to trust me.”

Akaashi stares. “We didn’t—”

“But this!” interrupts Tsukishima. “This isn’t even about  _ me _ . You put Bokuto in danger. You fucking  _ assholes _ , obsessed with your weird criminal secrets. I’m—” He stops, realizing he’s now speaking so loud he’s practically shouting. He sighs, jaw tight. “You know what? No. I’m done.”

He stomps to the entrance, grabbing a traveling cloak at random from the nearby closet, and opens the front door.

“Where are you going?” Kuroo asks, harsh.

Tsukishima turns to offer him a joyless smile. “If only I trusted you enough to tell you.”

He slams the door shut.

He stumbles down the street, mind still buzzing from the fight. 

It’s a few houses down that he realizes the cloak he chose has no hood to hide his hair. Tsukishima decides it doesn’t matter; the streets are empty of anyone capable of recognizing him this time of night. 

He walks off his anger for a while, with no clear destination in mind. He doesn’t want to go back to the house, and he  _ certainly  _ doesn’t want to go back to the castle. He needs to find a place to go soon, however. Thick, heavy clouds are rolling in, covering the moon and plunging the streets into darkness. It’s only a matter of time before he gets lost. 

He considers going to the bakery. The owners seem nice, with all the free pastries they’ve given them over the last couple weeks. Even though Coach refused him the first time, it’s the best idea he’s got.

He starts making his way there. The wind picks up in a sudden cold wave, making him shiver in his still damp clothes. It blows loudly, but Tsukishima can pick up another sound, weaker, hidden beneath it. 

Tsukishima ducks into an alley, where the wind is cut off, and listens. He can hear the noise more clearly now. It sounds like someone humming.

He recognizes the voice, although he can’t name it’s owner. The humming seems to get closer, then stops. 

Footsteps approach from behind him. 

He spins on his heels to see a flash of bright, red hair.

“Your Majesty.”

There’s a shooting pain in his skull, and then only darkness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun dUHHHHHHH


	6. Worth a Dime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry bout that last chapter, except we're not sorry at all. enjoy! ~
> 
> thanks again for the comments and kudos, they mean a lot!! <3

When Tsukishima comes to, he’s surprised to find himself upright. The first thing he’s aware of is the sharp throb of pain in the back of his head. Maybe that’s why it takes him a minute to remember what happened—the humming, getting attacked from behind. It seems he’s restrained against a wall, his hands bound in thick rope above him. They’re already feeling numb from being raised for so long; he pulls on them, but there’s no give to them. 

His breathing accelerates, too fast, and all he can hear is the blood rushing in his ears. 

He’s been taken, for real this time.

He tugs on his restraints again, frantic. The rope digs into his wrists, his heart pounds against his ribcage, his vision blurs and— 

He squeezes his eyes shut, forcing himself to stand still and take a deep breath. He lets the fear seep out of him, purposefully relaxing his stiff shoulders. He can’t let hysteria take over. If the people that have taken him wanted him hurt or dead, they would’ve most likely done so already. The thought helps him calm down.

Considering the fact that he can still feel his arms even a little bit, Tsukishima guesses that wherever he is, it’s only been a few hours at most since he stormed out of the thieves’ home. Whoever has taken him was kind enough to leave him his glasses, at least. The building’s roof is high, the floor is dirty concrete, and around him are shipping crates—lots of them. Some kind of warehouse, then. He can hear the sound of waves hitting the shore, probably just outside. 

Tsukishima has no idea where he is. 

He hears a door clang open on the other side of the warehouse, hidden behind stacks of crates. The ensuing footsteps are clear under the sound of that incessant humming. That voice, it’s familiar— 

Tsukishima places it a second before he walks into view and stops humming. Tendou, the guy from the tavern. It isn’t a useful revelation; Tsukishima knows nothing about him, nothing that might help him.

“Tsukishima Kei!” Tendou sing-songs. “He has a name after all. Or would you prefer your Majesty?” He was unsettling at the bar; here, he’s downright menacing. Tsukishima shutters his face, refusing to let him see how scared he is. “At least, that’s my theory. That hair is so iconic, how could it be anyone else?”

Theory? Does he not know for sure who Tsukishima is? 

He supposes it isn’t impossible. Tsukishima, as a public figure, doesn’t actually show his face up close all that often. Seen from a distance, the easiest way to differentiate him from the rest of his family is his long hair. There’s no way to know for sure what he looks like beyond that. Tsukishima pounces on this ray of hope—maybe he can get out of here without being sent back to the castle. Or worse. Surely they won’t want him if they think he’s a commoner with a striking resemblance.

“I had a hunch that I’d run into you again, Your Majesty.” He doesn’t react to the incorrect title, shoves down the urge to snap  _ it’s ‘your highness’, get it right _ like he was prone to do at the palace. It’s like a slap to the face, a reminder of what he could be one day if enough things go wrong and he ends up on the throne. 

Tendou is still talking. “I’ve got a very good intuition, you see. It’s how we got all this!” He gestures to the rest of the warehouse and the large amounts of presumably illegal goods. “My boss trusts me when I tell him what’s going to happen; very useful in this world, you can imagine. I’m lucky to have him!” Tendou taps his fingers in the air to punctuate the statement before continuing, “Unfortunately, this particular hunch is a bit too risky for him to do anything without more proof. Any chance you want to confirm your identity for us? We’ll get you back to the castle a lot faster than those other thieves.” Tendou wrinkles his nose in a faux distaste. 

“I thought those thieves were your friends,” Tsukishima says. He didn’t, not for a second, but Tendou doesn’t need to know that. “If I was the prince, why would you take me from them?” 

“Friends, coworkers, enemies. What’s the difference, really? If they want you back bad enough, they can pay your ransom instead of the king. It’s not like Kuroo is hurting for cash.” Tendou waves a hand dismissively and Tsukishima frowns. Tendou’s eyes widen in surprise at his confusion. “Did you not know that Kuroo is sitting on piles of family money? He’s almost as blue-blooded as you, Your Majesty.” Tendou delivers the news with a snarky bow. 

For some reason, the mention of Kuroo’s past sets Tsukishima off. He starts thrashing, pulling on the ropes keeping him trapped. “Let me  _ go _ .”

Tendou’s only response is to laugh and dance out of reach of Tsukishima’s kicking legs. 

“Sorry, Your Majesty, we’ll be keeping you around just a little while longer. You’ll be back in the palace soon enough.” 

And then he’s gone, just like that, and Tsukishima is alone again. 

Tsukishima wants to dismiss this new information about Kuroo immediately. Clearly, he isn’t nobility; he lives in a shitty house and steals for a living. But then Tsukishima remembers Kuroo’s reluctance to share his past, the depth of knowledge he seems to have about life as a noble. He knows Oikawa personally enough to find him insufferable, whereas Bokuto and Akaashi seemed indifferent to the man. There is a noble family with the name Kuroo, but Tsukishima never made the connection. So maybe there is some truth to it; just another secret. At least this one Tsukishima can’t entirely blame Kuroo for keeping—if he could shed his upbringing, he would, in a heartbeat, and never bring it up again. 

With Tendou gone, and nothing likely to happen for a while, Tsukishima doesn’t have anything to distract him from his thoughts. His eyes are scratchy with tiredness, but he doubts he could sleep like this, upright and bound. He tries to set his brain on escaping, on getting out of here and back to Kuroo, Akaashi, and Bokuto—because that  _ is _ where he’ll be going. But his mind keeps jumping around, creating and discarding possible plans too fast. He keeps landing on the wrong things—Bokuto’s blankness in the Oikawa Manor, Akaashi’s troubled frown, Kuroo’s harsh voice as Tsukishima left. 

He sighs loudly in the empty room. Removed from the moment as he is, he can think about it with more clarity now than when he was yelling at them. He still thinks he was right— they put him and Bokuto in danger. Looking back, Tsukishima can see a thousand clues in Bokuto’s behaviour that this was coming, but neither Kuroo nor Akaashi noticed. Tsukishima had been hyper aware of Bokuto’s every move, unpleasantly so; if he’d known about his moods, Tsukishima wouldn’t have had to  _ panic _ like that. They could have dealt with it before they did the heist, worked around it. Instead of… what happened. 

He thinks back to his conversation with Kuroo the night he decided to bring Tsukishima along on his first heist. Tsukishima asked why he was being trusted with so much illegal information, at the time. What a fool he was. Kuroo gave him the bare minimum, not even bothering to tell him the whole plan. Even the parts he should have been specific on were vague; the night of the heist was terrifying, in part because he was doing something dangerous, but more so because he didn’t have all the details. 

Tsukishima makes a list of all the personal facts that he knows about them: Kuroo sleeps and wakes too late every day. He’s cocky and overly self-aware of his own intelligence and good looks. His hair is terrible.

Akaashi is quiet, dedicated. He’s much stronger than he looks and is an excellent fighter. He can read expressions and understand unspoken words better than anyone.

Bokuto is bright and passionate. He has enough energy to power a small town, but concentrates it all on the people he loves. He’s almost too much to take in all at once.

But those are all things that he’s observed. He can count on his fingers the amount of real information they’ve shared about themselves. 

Everything else has always been about their work. Even the drinking game, as fun as it was, was concentrated on their illegal activities. Getting to know anything  _ real _ about them is like pulling teeth. 

Tsukishima knows they don’t have confidence in him; he’s told them so. But realizing just how true his understanding of their relationship was makes his chest feel hollow. 

He said their secrets didn’t matter, that they could keep them if they wanted. Tsukishima, trapped and alone, has to admit that that wasn’t entirely true. He wants to know, not for his safety or curiosity— he just wants them to trust him, plain and simple. But why? Because he likes them? Because, against all odds,  _ he _ trusts them?

Either way, Tsukishima doesn’t know where that leaves them, and this weird relationship they’re cultivating. 

He stops, abruptly. So what, he cares about them? It’s natural that he would, after they’ve spent so much time together. He shakes his head; he can keep thinking about his  _ feelings _ on the matter, or he can set his mind to escaping, properly, and do his best to get back to them. 

He thumps his head back against the wall in frustration. He should have asked Bokuto, or maybe Akaashi, to show him how to get out of bindings. That would be a useful skill to have, right about now, with his wrists raw from rubbing the rope as he struggles against them. At first he tries to untie them, somehow—but as his patience fades, he turns to yanking on them harshly, hoping it’ll loosen them. It only serves to hurt him, but the pain is welcome, crystallizing. 

Eventually, he gives up, instead just standing there and staring blankly into space. He’s begun to doze off, more out of boredom than fatigue, when he registers voices from just outside the warehouse. Tsukishima can’t hear them very well, with the walls between them and the sounds of the nearby ocean, but he still manages to make out a few words. He strains his ear to pick up any useful information about where he is, or what they intend to do with him exactly, but the conversation is too muffled. He understands a few garbled phrases here and there, until he finally hears something he recognizes: the name Ushijima. 

Tsukishima knows he’s heard it before, and it takes him a minute to remember where.

It was at the tavern, the same night he met Tendou, that he heard the pirates mention Ushijima and his crew. Something about illegal trade and late deliveries of— Tsukishima’s eyes widen when it finally clicks. Ushijima is the leader of a weapon smuggling operation, specializing in swords.    
  
Tsukishima’s gaze flicks between the dozens of boxes with new eyes now that he knows they likely have weapons inside. If he can get to one, he could use the blades to cut himself free.

Not for the first time in his life, Tsukishima is grateful for his height. His legs are just barely long enough to reach out to the nearest boxes. He stretches as far as he can to try and bring one closer with the edge of his foot. The motion only worsens the rope burn, but he ignores it. 

He isn’t sure how long it takes him to get the box close enough to open. The little sunlight that reaches him isn’t enough to give him a clue of the time; he estimates at least an hour. The boxes are heavy and moving one takes a considerable amount of effort. 

It’s when he begins to consider the best way to try and open it that he pauses to think about what he’s doing. From what Tendou told him, they’re only keeping him around until they confirm his identity. If he just stays put, they’ll send him back to the castle within a day or two. So why is he working so hard to escape? What’s the point? Going back to the castle was always going to be how his little adventure would end. 

But going back now would mean giving up on seeing Kuroo, Bokuto, and Akaashi again. With the way they left things, their last words to each other would always be ones of anger and resentment. The thought isn’t one Tsukishima wants to consider for very long. 

There was also the possibility that his kidnappers would simply try to sell him back to Kuroo. Tsukishima didn’t think Tendou was a reliable source of information, in any sense of the word. But considering how things ended between them, the idea of the others paying even a dime to get him back is almost enough to make Tsukishima laugh. No, he needs to escape, if only to talk to his—friends, at least one more time.

The crate, as it turns out, is an absolute bitch to open. After a dozen failed attempts at getting the top off with his feet, Tsukishima gives up on that approach. Using most of the little strength he has left, he kicks a hole straight through the box and the side splinters under the impact. The opening is just big enough for Tsukishima to see the glint of swords resting inside. 

  
By the time he manages to take a sword out of the box, lift it up his body, and use the small amount of leverage he has to slowly saw the rope in half, the sun has set again. Every one of his limbs ache and every movement has him holding back pained groans. His wrists are a bloody mess of wounds from pulling against the rope; the sharp ache is agonizing and impossible to ignore. 

Tendou didn’t lock the warehouse doors on his way out; Tsukishima should be able to just walk away. Even so, he takes the sword with him. 

As he reaches the exit, however, he can make out the sounds of a few people talking outside the warehouse. It isn’t long before the group disperses, but Tsukishima can still hear one set of footsteps making their way to the door. 

Terrified yet determined, Tsukishima positions himself in front of the entrance, sword raised in his trembling arms. He’s almost too weak to stay standing, but he’ll be damned if he wastes his only chance of escape. He plans to wait for the door to open, attack Ushijima’s goon with the sword, and make a run for it.   
  


The door starts to creak open, and Tsukishima braces himself to swing— 

“Tsukki?”

Tsukishima’s knees buckle with relief as Kuroo rushes to his side, and the sword clatters to the floor. He barely hears it, too focused on the feeling of Kuroo holding him up, his arms wrapped around Tsukishima’s torso. 

The weight of the day’s stress and exhaustion finally hits Tsukishima and he collapses like a ragdoll against Kuroo’s chest.  _ You came _ , he wants to say, but nothing comes out of his throat. 

Kuroo tugs him closer, letting Tsukishima’s chin rest over his shoulder. Behind him are Bokuto and Akaashi, their faces creased with worry. 

“Are you alright?” Kuroo asks him, almost a whisper.

Tsukishima nods, letting his eyes shut. Kuroo is solid and warm, and smells like the house, like gunpowder and ink.

_ Like home _ , Tsukishima has time to think, before everything goes black.   
  


****

He wakes up in his bed the next day, late enough to see the sun begin its descent. His muscles are sore despite his many long hours of sleep, and sitting up proves difficult. The motion brings his attention to his wrists, now bandaged thoroughly, but the burning ache is still present. 

Not knowing what else to do, he makes his way down to the kitchen. The other three are there, talking in hushed tones. They stop when they spot Tsukishima coming into the room.

“Sit,” Kuroo says. Says, doesn’t snap. Are they not mad at him anymore? Is he mad at them? 

He sits. 

There’s a plate placed in front of him and it’s then that he remembers that he hasn’t eaten in two days. He eats without complaint, for once. Akaashi disappears upstairs while Kuroo sits at the table with Tsukishima. Bokuto stays standing, bouncing on his feet like he can’t sit still. Neither of them say anything as Tsukishima devours the food. 

Akaashi returns with a first-aid kit and sets it on the table next to his now-empty plate. Akaashi sits next to him and gestures for Tsukishima to give him his wrists.

He carefully removes the bandages to replace them with fresh ones, and the dull ache Tsukishima’s been feeling magnifies. The sight of his wrists, red and raw, sends a sharp stab of pain up his arm. Akaashi makes no comment as he starts gently cleaning them, but Tsukishima sees both Kuroo and Bokuto wince when he hisses at the contact. 

Akaashi is thorough, but quick. He finishes wrapping up his second wrist, then starts to put away the supplies he was using. Tsukishima, now with fresh bandages on his arm, pulls his hands into his lap and out of sight. The three of them keep staring at them and Tsukishima doesn’t like the expressions on their faces. A thick, heavy silence settles over the room.

**“** No one else is gonna say it, so I will. This was my fault.” Tsukishima’s eyes snap to Bokuto, who’s staring intently at his feet, his fists clenched at his sides. Kuroo grimaces and Akaashi frowns. Before they can argue, Bokuto continues, “No, it was. This is my problem, and I’m the one who didn’t mention it.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Bo. We should’ve noticed.” Akaashi moves to stand, but thinks better of it, his expression conflicted as he stays in his seat.

“And it doesn’t just  _ happen _ . Something triggers it.” Kuroo has that look on his face that Tsukishima is familiar with—it’s the one he wears when he’s thinking up the solution to a problem.

“You never told us what caused it, Bokuto.” Akaashi’s brows are furrowed. “We were going to ask, but—”

They all look at Tsukishima. Yeah.  _ But.  _

Bokuto groans, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know, okay? I was feeling sort of alright, and then we heard a noise downstairs and Tsukki told me to put on a shirt and the safe wouldn’t open and—” He groans again, dropping his hand. 

Kuroo tilts his head. “Is that number thirty-seven?”

“No, I think this is a number six,” Akaashi replies thoughtfully, eyeing Bokuto. 

Bokuto and Tsukishima squint at them. “What are you talking about?” 

“It’s not important. Bokuto, before the heist, you were practicing your safe cracking, right?” Bokuto nods, hesitant. “I even said you were doing a good job and everything. And Kuroo was hanging all over you, so that can’t be it either.” Akaashi pauses. “Bokuto, were you upset because Tsukishima wasn’t paying enough attention to you?”

Bokuto blushes and refuses to meet any of their eyes. 

“Seriously?” Kuroo says with his eyebrows in his hairline. “Tsukki, why were you ignoring him?!” 

“I wasn’t!” Tsukishima argues. He doesn’t like where this conversation is going—or the way Kuroo and Akaashi are looking at him with unimpressed faces. Bokuto, at least, is still staring at the floor. Tsukishima changes tactics, exclaiming, “How was I supposed to know that would happen?”

“So you were ignoring him,” Akaashi reiterates, jumping on the admission. 

That gets Bokuto to look up finally. His face is distraught, his fears confirmed. Tsukishima hates being the cause of that expression. “It wasn’t like that.” 

“What  _ was _ it like?” Kuroo leans forward; Tsukishima leans back. He crosses his arms. 

“Why should I tell you anything? It’s not like any of you have ever volunteered any information about yourselves.” 

“That’s not true…” Bokuto argues weakly, looking unsure of himself. 

“You tell me plenty about past jobs and criminal contacts, you give me basic stuff about the heists we do,” Tsukishima says. “But that’s it. Bokuto’s moods, Kuroo’s past. Fuck, even Tendou knew more about Kuroo than me, and we practically live together!”

Kuroo’s head shoots up, his expression almost unreadable—but Tsukishima thinks he can detect a hint of dread. “What did he say about me?”

“That you come from money, like I do.” No one says anything and Tsukishima’s never seen Kuroo’s face so expressionless. “Is it true?”

“That’s really not—”

“See?” he interrupts, uncrossing his arms to motion at him. “You’re doing it again. Keeping shit from me.”

“It’s not like you’re really big on the sharing, either,” Akaashi pipes in. His eyes are narrowed, either in annoyance or confusion, Tsukishima can’t tell. 

Tsukishima sighs. “Kuroo, remember when you said you’d tell me about your past if I told you why I wanted to leave the castle? Are you seriously telling me that you would have followed through and told me anything?” Tsukishima waits with a raised brow as Kuroo only fidgets. “I didn’t think so. This isn’t about me. I didn’t even have anything to  _ tell _ . I wanted to leave because being a prince is miserable and I wanted a break, simple as that. But it seems like you might be able to  _ relate _ , Kuroo.” Tsukishima fixes him with a glare. 

Kuroo holds up his hands in defence. “It’s not like you knowing about— _ that _ is going to help keep you safe. This isn’t the same as Bokuto’s thing.”

“Not everything is about those damn heists!” 

“Then what  _ is _ it about?” Bokuto asks, having moved closer to the table as the conversation progressed. 

_ Because I like you! We’re friends, aren’t we? What else would we be? Friends tell each other things, they know each other, they trust each other. Are we friends?  _

“I just don’t like being kept in the dark, alright?” Tsukishima says instead.

“Well, neither do we,” Akaashi says, tapping on the table. “So tell us: why were you ignoring Bokuto?”

Tsukishima needs to answer, he needs an excuse, something he can say that won’t hurt Bokuto’s feelings more but instead of working to come up with a solution, all Tsukishima’s brain can think of is that damned  _ dream _ and the way it made him feel— 

“Did I do something wrong?” Bokuto asks in a small voice when Tsukishima fails to reply. 

Tsukishima deflates, rubbing a hand over his face. “No, you didn’t do anything.” He looks at the ceiling, unable to look at them as he admits, “I had… a dream. About you.”

A beat of silence, and then another. Tsukishima risks a glance at them. Kuroo has a hand over his mouth that does nothing to hide his smirk. Akaashi’s eyebrows are raised in surprise, clearly interested in this new piece of information. 

“Wait, you mean like—” Bokuto’s confused frown is quickly turning into elation as he puts the pieces together. If Tsukishima wasn’t red before, he sure is now. 

“No!” He practically shouts. He takes a deep breath, settles back into his chair. “I mean, yes, like—but it  _ doesn’t mean anything _ ! It was only a dream.” Tsukishima asserts quickly. “It made things weird, though. I was hoping you wouldn’t notice. I’m sorry for upsetting you, Bokuto.” 

They process this. Tsukishima hunches over the table and puts his head in his hands, wishing he was anywhere else. 

It’s Kuroo who speaks first. “Well, I think that was sufficiently embarrassing. You’ve earned all the information you want.” 

“I’m not sure I even want it now, you egotistical ball of hair,” Tsukishima mutters into his hands, loud enough that they can still hear him. 

Kuroo laughs. “My full name is Kuroo Tetsurou.”

Tsukishima raises his head and squints, remembering old gossip. “Aren’t you supposed to be  _ dead _ ?”

“It’s amazing the lengths people will go to in order to avoid getting married. I’ll give you all the details some other time, answer any questions you want. I promise.” 

Tsukishima can accept that, he thinks. He’s not sure he could handle  _ that _ story right now, in any case. 

Once again, the room falls into silence. This time, however, it’s more comfortable, with everything out in the open. Tsukishima feels drained, as if he hadn’t just slept for sixteen hours. 

Words tumble out of his mouth, Tsukishima too tired to stop them. “I wasn’t sure if you were coming.” He can’t tell which one sucks in a breath at his statement. “How did you find me?” 

“I went to follow you, at a distance, to make sure you were safe,” Akaashi says. “I couldn’t find you, even though you’d only been gone a few minutes.”

“Kuroo realized that Tendou probably figured out who you were at the tavern,” Bokuto adds. 

“Then it was pretty obvious when Shiratorizawa reached out and offered to return you for a hefty fee,” Kuroo finishes. Tsukishima’s chest thumps painfully. 

“Did you pay them?” 

Kuroo barks an unpleasant laugh. “No. Without proof, it was too messy. I reminded Ushijima of some favours I’ve done for him in the past, and he agreed to hand you over without too much argument.” 

“I’m glad I didn’t put you out any money, then.” He tries to keep any emotion out of his voice. He doesn’t know where they stand, doesn’t know how to act. 

Bokuto moves from where he was standing in the centre of the room watching. He slumps into the chair next to Akaashi and stares intently at Tsukishima. “We wouldn’t have cared if you had. We’re sorry, okay? Just— please don’t leave like that again.”  _ Like that _ , Tsukishima’s mind fixates on. Because he  _ will _ be leaving again, when they get their ransom and he goes back to his life at the castle. 

Kuroo is speaking, “You’re right. We can’t have it both ways—we either trust you enough to work with us, properly, or we don’t.” He folds his hands in front of him on the table. 

“It’s been just us three for so long,” Akaashi says before Tsukishima can sort out whatever he’s feeling. “But that isn’t really true anymore, is it?”

They’re all staring at Akaashi, who was looking at the table as he spoke. Now he raises his steely blue eyes to meet their gazes. 

Bokuto grins and Kuroo smiles, looking away to say, “I guess not, eh, princess?” 

Tsukishima feels his lips pulling up without his permission. “If you say so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow us on tumblr [here](https://amateurbunburyist.tumblr.com/) and [here](https://maudit-innocent.tumblr.com/)


	7. Cheap Shot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LED: thats a cute line  
> Witty: thanks i stole it from twilight  
> LED: .........i mean i guess it can stay?
> 
> enjoy this longer than usual chapter!

The next few days following Tsukishima’s return are... awkward. The others keep giving him strange looks, as if, any minute now, he’s going to walk out the door again. He can’t go thirty minutes without catching one of them staring. It’s starting to annoy Tsukishima.

He hoped that things would eventually go back to normal. Unfortunately, by the time their next heist rolls around, not much has improved. It’s a relatively easy job, but the plan Kuroo comes up with strikes Tsukishima as… bizarre.

Their target is a low level member of the nobility who keeps a safe of valuables on the highest floor of his house. The city has been crawling with guards lately, more so than usual, searching for the missing prince. Because of the excessive security patrolling the streets, Kuroo suggested they go in through a maintenance door on the roof rather than entering from the ground floor. Bokuto and Akaashi are to scale a nearby building and hop between rooftops until they get to the right one and slip inside, hopefully unnoticed. 

Kuroo and Tsukishima will serve as lookouts across the street. If they see any movement inside their target building, they’ll light a lantern to signal that Bokuto and Akaashi should make their escape.

It makes sense, but Tsukishima fails to see why both he and Kuroo need to keep watch; it’s easily a one man job. Tsukishima can’t help but notice that the plan isn’t as efficient as what Kuroo usually comes up with. He could’ve done this alone. Not to mention— 

“Tsukkiiiiiiiii. I’m _bored_.”

Kuroo is incredibly annoying when he has nothing to do.

“Stop complaining and pay attention.”

They’re sitting on the ledge of a slanted tile roof, the building their robbing in clear view. City guards and their trained dogs are making the rounds below, zealously circling the grounds of the manors along the street. Bokuto and Akaashi have already made their way inside. 

The stars are shining in a cloudless sky and the wind brings a pleasant warmth through the night air. Tsukishima is unable to appreciate any of it, too distracted by Kuroo’s constant fidgeting. On any other kind of day, he would be enjoying the quiet with Tsukishima, but being sidelined during a heist has him bursting with energy. 

Kuroo sighs, lying back against the roof tiles. “I’m sure they’re fine, you don’t need to take this so seriously.”

“If this job isn’t that important, then why the hell does it need two people to do it?” Tsukishima snaps.

“It’s the buddy system!” Kuroo says with exaggerated enthusiasm. “We’re safer in pairs.” 

“Are you telling me,” grits Tsukishima, feeling the annoyance build in his chest, “that you’re here to _babysit_ me? I can take care of myself.”

“Don’t worry, princess. I know.”

“Then why are we here? We could be in the streets creating a diversion or—”

“Bo insisted.” 

Tsukishima deflates a little, remembering Bokuto’s guilt stricken face after his kidnapping. He’s pretty sure he already knows the answer, but asks anyway. “Why?”

Kuroo hesitates for a moment. “He thinks that if you get into another… risky situation, you’re going to ask to be sent back to castle early.”

“What?”

“Look, this job is stressful, okay? And dangerous. Mostly dangerous.” Kuroo passes a hand through his hair. “It’s a lot to take, and most people—” Tsukishima raises an eyebrow. Kuroo sighs. “But you’re not most people, are you?”

Tsukishima fights a smile, looking away to stare at the building again. He can see the vague shadows of Akaashi and Bokuto through the highest window. “He doesn’t want me to leave,” says Tsukishima, before quickly adding, “yet.”

Kuroo shakes his head. “Nah, we don’t.”

Something strange fills the air between them, and Tsukishima is careful to keep his eyes forward. The conversation is going somewhere he isn’t quite sure he’s ready for yet. Eager to change the mood, he opens his mouth to say something, but Kuroo beats him to the punch.

“You know,” he starts, “I was thinking about it and what you said wasn’t entirely true.” At Tsukishima’s confused noise, he clarifies, “You said we never told you anything, but I _did_ tell you about Bokuto and Akaashi’s past. You didn’t even have to ask!” 

“That doesn’t count. You barely said anything.”

Kuroo frowns, biting his lip. “I _shouldn’t_ have said anything.” At Tsukishima’s unimpressed look, he explains further, “No it’s just— what I told you about them, it wasn’t mine to tell. Even if it wasn’t much.”

Tsukishima nods, reluctant. “Then maybe you can tell me why the Kuroo family thinks you’re dead.”

Kuroo barks out a joyless laugh. “Oh no, my family knows I’m alive.”

“They just let you fake your death?” Tsukishima asks, incredulous.

“They faked it for me. I never asked them to. I was just walking down the street one day and heard the news.”

It’s too dark for Tsuksihima to see Kuroo’s face properly, but the bitterness in his voice is unmistakable.

“But why?” 

“My family has always been very—proud.” Kuroo leans forward, elbows on his knees and head on his fists. His legs swing slowly against the building wall and his eyes are fixed in front of him, unseeing. “We didn’t have to _be_ perfect, but we had to _look_ perfect. A lot of noble families have this obsession with their image.”

Tsukishima nods, feeling his own long hair neatly tied behind his head. He can definitely relate.

“But my parents were worse than most. It was the only thing they cared about, to look like a good and proper noble family.” Kuroo’s voice drips with sarcasm. “I’m an only child, so my parents wanted me to get married and have kids, to continue to Kuroo line and all that. I said no, obviously. We got into a lot of fights over it. My parents were always screaming about how I was destroying the family, ruining our reputation, being selfish by not—’producing an heir’, as they put it.”

“Did you ever consider just—giving them what they wanted?” Tsukishima interrupts.

Kuroo looks surprised at the question. “Of course, they’re my family. But it’s my life. I don’t want to spend it in a loveless marriage playing at perfection.”

“Ah.” Tsukishima purses his lips, having expected a different response. He’s not sure what to do with that answer; he’s never seen things through that lens before. 

Kuroo continues, “Eventually I got fed up and told them that if they kept pushing I’d just leave. I knew that, to my parents, the shame of having a ‘runaway delinquent child’ was worse than never having any grandchildren. Well, I thought I knew.”

“What happened?”

Kuroo straightens himself again with a shrug. “I left. I thought that—I don’t know, that after a few days, they’d send a letter asking me to come back or something. But no. My parents saw that their options were to have a son who deserted them, or a son who _refused_ to have any biological children. Or no son at all. That last one was the least embarrassing, apparently.”

“So they told everyone you died?!” exclaims Tsukishima, horrified.

“Yeah. People started asking questions when I stopped showing up at social events, so my parents said I was really sick. I think at that point they still thought I’d cave and come back. When I didn’t, well, you know.” Kuroo mimes slashing his own throat with a choking sound. 

Tsukishima wants to react. He wants to ask Kuroo if he’s joking, wants to curse, wants to scream. He can’t wrap his head around parents being able to give up just like that, and erase their son from their lives. His own parents would never—Tsukishima’s anger dips into bitter doubt. He’s actually not sure what his own parents would have done. Will do, if he keeps resisting their attempts at matchmaking. His knuckles whiten around his knees. 

He’s jerked out of his thoughts by Kuroo gently picking his fingers away from his leg. “You’re going to hurt yourself, princess.” Tsukishima expects him to let go, but he instead turns his hand palm up, his grip warm under his wrist. “Don’t worry so much,” says Kuroo, rubbing his thumb against the inside of Tsukishima’s hand. “Our situations are completely different.”

“This isn’t about me,” Tsukishima says, ashamed to have been caught worrying about himself. He doesn’t move his arm out of Kuroo’s hold. It really isn’t about him; Tsukishima is just shaken by Kuroo’s story. He knows of the borderline fanaticism with which the nobility treats reputation, but to think it could so easily destroy a family, someone’s life. Kuroo’s life.

Kuroo smirks, an edge of mockery returning to his voice. “What? Is His Highness getting angry for little old me?”

Kuroo’s hand around his own is all Tsukishima can focus on. His thumb is still moving around his palm, his fingers intertwined with Tsukishima’s. He swallows. “Maybe I am.”

He looks away from their fingers to meet Kuroo’s eye, already staring back at him. He has somehow reduced the space between them, and although Tsukishima’s been this close to him once before, he finds it just as paralyzing as the first time.

His hand tightens around his own and Tsukishima doesn’t dare move, eyes fixed onto his face. The warm wind picks up again, ruffling his hair. 

Unfortunately, the breeze is strong enough to push the rooftop door of their target building, and it slams shut with an echoing bang. The sound resonates throughout the silent streets below and every visible guard gets into action, their dogs barking and searching for the origin of the noise. 

“We gotta go,” Kuroo says. He stands, making his way down the side of the building, and Tsukishima is quick to follow him. The wall has plenty of window ledges and balconies; the way down is easy. 

Over his shoulder, he can see Bokuto and Akaashi already outside, jumping away to other rooftops.

Their feet touch the ground in an empty alleyway. On the one end is a street full of guards and on the other is—a brick wall. Tsukishima sees Kuroo’s eyes dart around in search of another way out as the barking becomes louder. They _can’t_ be seen right now, especially not Tsukishima, who wouldn’t be able to hide his hair in their current loose black outfits. 

The guards’ footsteps are getting closer, and Tsukishima can hear the sniffing of the dogs. His breathing accelerates as he realizes just how trapped they are. He’s about to suggest trying to climb back up the wall, knowing full well they won’t make it all the way to the roof in time, when Kuroo shoves his shoulders into the dirty side wall of the alleyway. 

“Wha—”

Tsukishima doesn’t get to finish his question before Kuroo covers his mouth with his hand. “Do you trust me?” he whispers in a rush. Tsukishima ignores the question to try and fight out of his grip. Kuroo pushes him back harder. “ _Do you?_ ”

There’s something in his voice that makes Tsukishima stop. His eyes meet Kuroo’s and without breaking eye contact, he nods. Kuroo removes his hand from his face to reach behind his head, undoing the tie holding Tsukishima’s hair back. The long blond strands fall onto his shoulder, and Kuroo adjusts them to hang around his face. He takes a step closer to Tsukishima, then hesitates. 

A dog barks.

“ _Fuck_.” 

Then, Kuroo is kissing him. Tsukishima freezes, spine rigid against the hard brick, unsure of what to do, how to react. Kuroo puts his hand beside Tsukishima’s head and tilts his own in a way that completely hides Tsukishima’s face from the alley’s entry. Understanding the deception for what it is, Tsukishima remains perfectly still, only letting himself gently kiss back.

Kuroo does no such thing. Having apparently decided to make their performance as believable as possible, he moves in closer, pressing himself bodily against him, other arm snaking around his waist. 

Tsukishima keeps his eyes firmly closed. His heart is beating a mile a minute, and he’s aware of nothing but Kuroo’s warm mouth opening against his own, a mantra of _this doesn’t mean anything, he’s just doing this to not get caught, this doesn’t mean anything_ running through his mind on a loop. 

He isn’t sure how long he can keep forcing himself to stay still. Kuroo’s lips are insistent, and Tsukishima doesn’t want to resist, he just knows he _should_ . But Kuroo is pressing himself closer than he thought possible, releasing his mouth just long enough to bite at his lower lip. “ _Tsukki_.”

The sound of his name in Kuroo’s panting voice has Tsukishima caving with a whimpered moan, throwing his arms around Kuroo’s back and slipping his fingers beneath his shirt.

The knocking of the guard’s baton against the brick wall echoes through the alleyway. “Excuse me?”

Kuroo tears his mouth away. “ _What?_ ” he barks, annoyed. 

Kuroo’s arm is placed against the wall in the exact right spot to hide Tsukishima’s face from the guard. Only his long blond hair can be seen. 

“Have you or your gal seen anyone suspicious around here?”

“No,” answers Kuroo, already refocused on Tsukishima. 

The guard clears his throat. “Well, then. Have a nice evening.”

Tsukishima barely registers the words, eyes locked with Kuroo’s, exchanging panting breaths. This time, Kuroo doesn’t stop himself before kissing him again, harsher than before. 

Tsukishima groans, letting himself go boneless against the wall as Kuroo holds him up by putting one of his legs between his own. His tongue burns along Tsukishima’s and he feels himself melting into him, nails digging into his back. Kuroo lets his hand slip from his waist and up his body to his neck before tangling in his hair, tugging them just hard enough to make Tsukishima keen against his mouth.

He moves his hips and Tsukishima would move with him if his knees weren’t in danger of buckling. Instead, he kisses harder, abandoning his poor attempts at stopping the noises leaving his throat. 

He only lets go when Kuroo does, pulling his mouth away but keeping his forehead pressed against Tsukishima’s. His breath is warm and laboured when he speaks. “We should—go meet up with the others. They’re probably worried.”

Tsukishima bites the inside of his cheek, a sudden wave of anxiety replacing the feeling of want. Akaashi and Bokuto. Is Kuroo going to tell them about this? What will he say? He tries to console himself; it isn’t like they’ve done anything wrong, this was just to keep his identity safe. 

Who is he kidding. Tsukishima doesn’t even believe his own lie. He enjoyed that way more than a distraction warranted. 

His eyes flick between Kuroo’s, who grins with bruised lips. “Don’t worry, princess. The only person they’ll be jealous of is me.”

Kuroo is right. The four of them meet back up at the house, Bokuto and Akaashi having made it in and out without any issue. They drop their loot on the kitchen table with a thud. 

At first, Akaashi asks them if they’ve been in a fight. Their clothes are rumpled, their hair a mess. Tsukishima’s bottom lip is bleeding, and he shivers every time his tongue tastes blood. But when Kuroo answers with a negative, it isn’t hard for them to put the pieces together. 

Tsukishima holds his breath, waiting for their reaction. Unsurprisingly, Bokuto speaks first. “No way,” he whines. “This is totally unfair. Next job, I’m pairing up with Tsukki.”

“You got a bit rough, Kuroo,” says Akaashi, voice neutral.

Kuroo smirks at Tsukishima, as if to say _told you so_.

He opts not to answer, instead wishing them all goodnight over Bokuto’s loud inquiries for details. Not a single one of them seems bothered at all.

Tsukishima reaches the top of the stairs, lost in thought. That wasn’t normal, right? Usually, people in relationships got angry when their partners made out other people. They kissed for much longer than necessary to get rid of the guard; the excuse is flimsy, not that Kuroo even tried to use it. To Akaashi and Bokuto, they might’ve just sucked face for no reason other than that they wanted to, and they still didn’t care. Kuroo had been so certain that they wouldn’t mind… Had they discussed this before?

Tsukishima falls back on his bed with a tired huff. He can’t let himself consider it; thinking like this can only lead to disappointment. He buries his face in the pillow, taking in the now undeniable fact that he’s interested in both Kuroo and Bokuto. He would tell himself that it’s only physical attraction, but he’s getting tired of lying to himself. 

His only silver lining is that it’s just the two of them. He isn’t sure he could take the emotional weight of unrequited feelings for three whole people. Sure, he likes Akaashi plenty. He’s stoic yet kind, strong and beautiful, but those are just objective observations. His feelings towards him are completely platonic. They must be. And as long as he doesn’t develop a crush on Akaashi as well, he should be fine. Right?

****

Akaashi has been explaining how to notice if he’s being tailed for at least ten minutes and Tsukishima’s attention is starting to wane. 

“When you agreed to teach me how to fight, I thought we’d actually _do_ something.” Tsukishima interrupts. It’s something he’d been thinking about ever since his kidnapping and he figured Akaashi would be the best candidate, but now he’s second-guessing that decision. He crosses his arms. “Why are we even _outside_ if you’re just going to lecture me?”

Akaashi ignores his question. “Stop whining and listen, this is important. They didn’t give you a chance to fight back because they took you by surprise. If you had warning that they were following you, maybe things might’ve gone differently. That _is_ why you want to learn how to fight, isn’t it?”

Tsukishima grumbles and looks away. He figured Akaashi would realize his motivations, but having it said back to him so plainly makes him feel pathetic. 

“You should try and avoid getting into a fight as much as possible, regardless,” Akaashi continues. “Can I keep going, or do you want to stop?”

There’s nothing in his tone that implies a challenge, but Tsukishima bristles anyway. He gestures his hand for Akaashi to go on and shifts his weight to his other foot. He still doesn’t get why he can’t sit down while they do this, but he doesn’t protest again. 

Akaashi, rather than launching back into his lesson, narrows his eyes as he looks at Tsukishima. Tsukishima straightens up under the gaze, feeling uncomfortable. 

“If this is boring you, maybe we can try something else.” 

Tsukishima hazards a shrug. 

“Close your eyes.” Tsukishima frowns at him and keeps them open. Akaashi explains further, “You’re more perceptive than you think; I want you to try and figure out where I am without sight. We’ll start easy, I promise.” 

Satisfied with the answer, Tsukishima dutifully closes his eyes. He automatically strains his ears, listening. There’s little wind, so it’s simple to identify the sound of Akaashi walking a few feet away from him. 

Tsukishima opens his eyes and raises an eyebrow at Akaashi, who’s exactly where Tsukishima thought he was. “Now what?”

Akaashi looks amused at Tsukishima’s impatience. He waits until Tsukishima huffs and closes his eyes again before speaking. “I’m going to mask the sound of my footsteps this time.”

Tsukishima once again strains his ears, but this time he can’t tell where Akaashi is. He listens harder, he can hear the distant sound of birdsong, but nothing else until—

He points at where he heard the slight sound of movement and opens his eyes. Akaashi is there, not quite smiling. Tsukishima puts his arm down, annoyed with himself for feeling like he accomplished something.

“One more time, then we can move onto some basic moves. I’ve trained long and hard to be absolutely silent, so don’t feel bad if you can’t find me.” 

Tsukishima stands as still as he can, holding his breath, listening for any sign of Akaashi’s presence. There’s nothing, not even a hint to where he could be. It’s unnerving, to know that he’s there but have no _evidence_ of the fact. 

In the end, it isn’t sound that gives him away—Tsukishima can smell Akaashi’s warm scent a moment before he feels a hand on his arm. When he opens his eyes, Akaashi is standing so close to him they’re almost touching. It’s not like when Kuroo or Bokuto get in his personal space; Akaashi just stands there, as if waiting for something, his chin tilted gently upward to look Tsukishima in the eye, his expression the same as always. But that glint of challenge from earlier is there, the one that Tsukishima _feels_ more than sees. 

Tsukishima steps back. His chest hurts.

Akaashi shows him some basic dodges and attacks. Tsukishima pays more attention to the simple maneuvers than he ever did in the fighting lessons he took growing up. He hated them, and since he was the prince, his instructor let him get away with skipping out on lessons in hopes of gaining his parent’s favour. But Tsukishima follows along with Akaashi’s demonstrations dutifully, rather than thinking about… well. 

Akaashi’s movements are no less graceful slowed down—and only marginally easier to follow. They go through them a few times and Akaashi corrects his stance until he’s doing it more or less correctly. 

Still, Tsukishima is doubtful when Akaashi suggests trying them out on him. 

Tsukishima gets into position, keeping an eye on Akaashi’s defensive stance. He takes a deep breath before moving forward and taking a swing at him. It feels good, satisfying, rather than the awkward attempts he made before he weaseled out of fighting lessons. But it doesn’t land; he stumbles as his fist flies through the air where Akaashi had been standing only moments before.

Akaashi pops up next to him, having ducked to avoid the punch. “You need to move faster.”

“If you’re going to dodge like that, what’s the point of me trying to hit you in the first place?” Tsukishima huffs. 

“It’s helpful to have an actual target instead of just the air, but I don’t feel like getting clocked in the jaw today.” 

Tsukishima grits his teeth and backs up to their original positions, lifting his hands up. “Again.”

This time, Tsukishima spends less time thinking about his form and just _moves_ , trying to be as fast as possible. Akaashi just leans out of the way and Tsukishima’s fist swings through air pointlessly, _again_. “Better.”

This goes on for a while, until Tsukishima is breathless and frustrated. He knows he’s not going to be able to hit Akaashi, not if his fight with Bokuto was anything to go by, but still, it’s frustrating. He feels foolish, hitting empty air over and over again like he’s trying to catch flies. Akaashi doesn’t notice, or otherwise doesn’t comment; he offers slight corrections, and rare praise when he feels Tsukishima deserves it. 

Tsukishima readies himself once more, a plan forming in his mind. When Akaashi signals that he’s ready, Tsukishima moves—but doesn’t do the same punch with his right hand they’ve been practicing. Instead, he uses his other hand at the last minute, startling Akaashi enough that Tsukishima is able to his shoulder before he can fully dodge. 

Tsukishima feels a brief moment of pride at finally landing a hit before Akaashi loses his balance. He grips onto Tsukishima’s shirt in an effort to stay upright, but Tsukishima’s balance is just as compromised and instead they go tumbling to the floor, Akaashi under Tsukishima. 

His fall is cushioned by Akaashi, but Akaashi has no such luck, and he groans involuntarily. The sound does nothing to Tsukishima, because Tsukishima _is not into Akaashi, too, oh my GOD._

He’s out of breath. From the fall, surely. Akaashi’s body is warm underneath him, and surprisingly solid. It’s at odds with his delicate features, but it seems right, somehow. 

Akaashi clears his throat, looking at Tsukishima with bemusement. It’s only then that Tsukishima realizes he’s lying on top of him, not saying anything. He scrambles to get off, rolling onto the grace next to him. He puts his hands on his face and tries to catch his breath. 

Akaashi leaves him be for the time being; they lie there, breathing. 

Tsukishima shifts after a while, sitting up and crossing his legs. Akaashi looks at him but stays on his back. 

“I think that’s enough for today. You did well,” Akaashi says evenly. 

Tsukishima scoffs. He barely did anything. “Thanks.”

Akaashi sits up then. He puts a hand on Tsukishima’s knee, to which Tsukishima looks with surprise. “I’m serious. Don’t tell Bokuto, but you’re a much better student than him.” Akaashi grins then, sly. Tsukishima can’t look away. “I think what you’re doing is admirable, Tsukishima. Instead of running away from what scares you, you chose to learn how to fight back. Not many people would.”

Akaashi holds his gaze while Tsukishima processes his words, shocked and wide-eyed. Emotions are roiling in his stomach and he bets Akaashi can see them all on his face, plain as day, his expressionless mask proven once again useless against him.

Tsukishima couldn’t name half the things he’s feeling if he tried. But one thing is obvious—he feels something for Akaashi, and it definitely isn’t platonic. 

_Fuck._

****

It’s on a cloudy morning a few days later that Tsukishima realizes just how screwed he really is.

“Hey,” he says as Bokuto is preparing to leave for his daily errands. “Can I come with you today?” Tsukishima needs to go out for a bit; the past week locked indoors is getting to him.

Bokuto’s surprise renders him speechless just long enough for Tsukishima to feel smug at quieting him, for once. 

Bokuto wraps Tsukishima up in a bear hug, lifting him up off the floor so that his feet drag. His arms are too squished to even consider hugging him back, whether he wants to or not. 

“Of course, Tsukki!” 

Unfortunately, it isn’t as easy as that. Akaashi is coming down the stairs in time to see the commotion—when Bokuto announces that Tsukishima wants to join him, Akaashi purses his lips. They end up discussing the outing in depth for twenty minutes, analyzing all possible risks. Bokuto usually chats up anyone and everyone on his way, checking in with his contacts and making new ones as he keeps up with the gossip around town. Today, they’re going to go straight to the bakery to pick up their breakfast, taking shortcuts and alleys to avoid the main roads as much as possible. 

The fuss over him going out is familiar, after all his years as a royal, but it hits differently with his wrists still sore from his recent kidnapping. He doesn’t complain about the extra measures. 

As Tsukishima is donning his necessary cloak—and double checking that his hood is securely fastened, his hair tied out of the way—he can’t help but ask, “Are you sure you can skip meeting with your contacts?”

Bokuto waves a hand, unconcerned, bending to put on his shoes. “I can miss one day, it’s fine. I don’t need to go so often, I just like seeing everyone! It’s too bad that I can’t take you around to meet them all, I’m sure they’d love you.” Bokuto straightens, shoes in place, and grins. “But, hey, now I get you all to myself.” He winks. 

Tsukishima looks away rather than responding.

When they walk outside, Tsukishima immediately pulls his cloak closer around him. It’s properly cold out today, but Bokuto is unaffected by it, even without the amount of layers that Tsukishima is donning. 

“Tsukki,” Bokuto says suddenly. “Why did you want to come?” Before Tsukishima can respond, Bokuto holds his hands up. “I don’t mind! Coach will love to see you, maybe he’ll lecture _you_ this time instead of me. It’s not like I can force the food down your throat, it’s not my fault you have this weird aversion to food or something—”

Bokuto stops rambling when Tsukishima puts a hand on his gesturing arm. 

“I wanted to get out of the house,” Tsukishima answers, taking his hand back. He hesitates before adding, “I wanted to talk to you, as well.”

At that, Bokuto frowns. “About what? Did I—”

Tsukishima cuts him off with a shrug. “I don’t see you as much as Kuroo or Akaashi.” That isn’t entirely true. He does spend less time with Bokuto than the others, but Tsukishima’s mind has been lingering on some things Kuroo said, and he wants to talk to Bokuto about them. He doesn’t know how to broach the topic, though.

“Aww, Tsukki! You want to spend time with me?” Bokuto attempts to gather Tsukishima into another hug but stops when he glares at him. He settles for gripping his shoulder and shaking it once, which Tsukishima allows with a roll of his eyes. 

Bokuto, Tsukishima is discovering, knows _everyone_. Every home they walk past has a comment about the people who live there, every person they see on the street waves. Bokuto waves back, but leads Tsukishima away quickly, citing “important business!” to avoid having to talk to anyone. 

The half hour walk to the bakery goes quickly with Bokuto’s many anecdotes. Tsukishima couldn’t imagine wanting to talk to that many people, let alone befriending them all, but he’s quickly learning that Bokuto could make friends with a rock if he put his mind to it. And he’s so _kind_. Half his stories start with him helping strangers out of a hard time— lending them money, getting them jobs, sometimes the more nefarious job of getting rid of exploitative or abusive people. It’s like he always has one hand extended, expecting nothing in return. Tsukishima spares a moment of relief that he has Kuroo and Akaashi to keep him from getting taken advantage of. But Bokuto’s eternal friendliness has its perks—notably, a town full of people who would do anything for him. 

Including, it seems, his friends at the bakery. Coach is there, behind the counter, and he gives Bokuto everything he asks for, let’s him pay for it, then hands him a bag with twice the amount of food in it. Bokuto presents clearly well worn arguments against this, but Coach doesn’t budge. 

“He needs to eat more,” he says, pointing at Tsukishima, who grimaces. 

Bokuto sighs. “Fine. But don’t think this conversation is over! I _will_ pay you!”

With that, they say goodbye and head back outside. It’s warmer than when they went in, more humid—the clouds are hanging low above the city. 

About five minutes into their walk, Bokuto stops him as Tsukishima feels a drop of water on his face. Bokuto pulls them up some stairs into a closed doorway just in time to save them from being drenched as the sky opens up. 

“Guess we’re stuck here, eh, Tsukki?” Bokuto jokes loudly to be heard over the rain, glancing over at Tsukishima. But Tsukishima isn’t paying attention to that—instead, his eyes are fixed on Bokuto’s hand, which is gripping his right side, seemingly in pain.

“Are you okay?” Tsukishima frowns. 

Bokuto waves his free hand. “Yeah, yeah, it just acts up in the rain. I’ll be fine when it stops.”

Tsukishima squints. “What are you talking about?” 

“I thought Kuroo told you?” At Tsukishima’s confusion, Bokuto explains further. “You know, how I had to stop fighting because of an injury?”

Ah. Well, since he brought it up…

“He didn’t tell me very much. Said I should ask you, that it wasn’t his story to tell.” Tsukishima sits on the steps delicately, figuring that the downpour isn’t going to stop anytime soon. Bokuto joins him, wincing as the movement hurts his—stomach? 

Bokuto shakes his head once he’s settled, a rueful smile on his face. “He’s full of it. He just doesn’t like talking about it. It was years ago, and Kuroo wasn’t even there for the worst of it, but him and Akaashi had a harder time letting go of the whole thing than I did.” Bokuto frowns. “Though if either of them got hurt like that—I mean, I get it.”

“What happened?” 

Bokuto looks him up and down. “I’ll tell you all the gory details, but you gotta actually eat something.” He offers his hand. “Deal?”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes, but shakes his hand anyway. “Deal.”

Bokuto digs out a pastry from the bag and hands it to him. Tsukishima dutifully takes a small bite, waiting. 

“There’s an unspoken rule among fighters: let your opponent walk away. When they tap out, you stop. We’re all here for our own reasons, a lot of us for the money. It’s our livelihood, you know? Not to mention that if you make a habit of crippling people, no one is going to want to fight you anyway.” Bokuto stops staring into the rain to raise an eyebrow at Tsukishima. Tsukishima frowns until he realizes that he stopped eating. He takes another bite. 

“I was one of the best, and me and Akaashi made a lot of money. It was good work, all things considered.” Bokuto grimaces. “Then everything went to shit. There was this guy, can’t even remember his name anymore—” something in his voice tells Tsukishima that probably isn’t true “—who lost a big bet on one of my fights. He blamed me for it, and rigged my next match. He hired a bunch of goons to take me out: one to beat me in the ring and three more to hold Akaashi back. There was nothing I could do.” 

Bokuto laughs self-deprecatingly, and Tsukishima starts. That kind of laugh should never come from Bokuto, it feels _wrong_. 

“The guy facing me was way out of my league. He put me to the floor in less than a minute and then he… didn’t stop, I guess. Broke most of my ribs before I blacked out. I don’t remember what happened next, how Akaashi got me out of there. I didn’t wake up for a few days; they weren’t sure if I was even going to survive. I did, obviously, but my ribs never healed right. I can’t imagine what Akaashi went through while I was out.”

Tsukishima’s mouth is dry; he swallows. “What happened to the guy? The one who hired them?”

Bokuto comes back to himself and leans back. The rain is still pattering quietly outside their little sanctuary. “I don’t know. He went missing not too long afterwards; Akaashi swears he had nothing to do with it, but I’m not sure I believe him.” 

Tsukishima feels a vicious sense of vindication; he hopes Akaashi gave that guy what he deserved. 

“It still hurts, but only sometimes. If I do too much physical stuff, or the humidity, or just because it feels like it. But it got us out of fighting in the end, so.” Bokuto shrugs.

“You didn’t like fighting?”

“I didn’t mind it, so much. Akaashi hated it, though. He would never admit it, but I could tell.” Bokuto grins, suddenly shaking off the somber mood. “And not getting the shit kicked out of me daily was pretty nice, too.”

Tsukishima takes a bite of his pastry to avoid having to respond. He turns the new information over in his head, trying to process it. 

Bokuto lets him think, grabbing his own piece of bread and munching quietly. 

The rain has all but stopped; the clouds are still lingering, but the sun is visible again. Bokuto moves to stand, brushing the crumbs off of him, when Tsukishima stops him with a hand on his knee, not looking at him.

“Tell Akaashi thanks for me,” Tsukishima says. 

Bokuto pauses, parsing his meaning, then beams. “Tsukki!!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	8. Money to Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> those of you who are paying attention may have noticed the chapter count increase. the folly of man is thinking you can predict how long a story will be. 
> 
> also if you commented and didnt hear from us--we saw it and we love you! they mean so much to both of us, so thank you! <3
> 
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“He’s been here two months? Are you sure?” Bokuto asks. He’s sitting on one of the many stools scattered around their working space, frowning at Kuroo and Hinata. Hinata is busy being a nuisance while Tsukishima stands away from them, doing his best to ignore the conversation. This isn’t how he imagined his morning would go, with the annoying reminder that his time here is limited.

Tsukishima’s day started like any other, until Kuroo returned from his daily lunch with Kenma, Hinata glued to his heels.

“Yeah, and Kenma says the royals are getting desperate. He’s been here long enough, we have to start thinking about his ransom. That’s what the shrimp is here for.” Kuroo grimaces as Hinata’s attention is taken by Akaashi’s knife collection.

“Wait, right now?” Tsukishima asks, poorly disguising his alarm. 

“No, but Kenma made a strong case that we should probably get to it soon.” Kuroo points at Hinata. “That, and the fact that he’s real excited about this gig. The kid can grovel like nobody’s business. Maybe we can give him the note, at least, so he has it when it’s time to go.”

This gets Hinata’s attention and he leaves the weapons alone long enough to plant his hands on his hips and say, “Kenma agreed with me! At this point you’re just procrastinating.”

“We can finish up the letter today, we already have most of it written down,” Akaashi offers from the other end of the room. He’s been throwing knives at the target nailed to the wall for the better part of this conversation, the regular sounds of them hitting their mark stopping the room from ever becoming too quiet. What Akaashi said is true; in between jobs, the four of them spent an afternoon discussing how they were going to get Tsukishima returned to the castle without implicating themselves. Tsukishima hadn’t minded the topic at the time; going back to the castle felt like a distant future. 

It’s not so distant anymore.

Kuroo sighs. “Fine. Hinata, wait here.” He stands and disappears into his office. 

There’s a  _ thud _ when another of Akaashi’s knives hits the wall. 

“Where’s Kageyama?” Bokuto asks with a grin. “It’s weird seeing you without him brooding in the background.”

Hinata pouts. “Kenma doesn’t like people, so Kageyama stays home when I visit him.” Seemingly already bored with Akaashi’s weapons, he starts examining Bokuto’s many safes. 

He’s still busy trying to crack one open when Kuroo returns. Tsukishima watches him sit back down at the table, weary eyes focused on the piece of parchment he’s holding: the ransom note’s latest draft.

Another  _ thud _ of the knife landing.

He looks up to find Kuroo and Bokuto staring at him. Akaashi is walking to the wall to yank the knives embedded out and throw them back again. Hinata is now sitting atop one of the larger safes, his smile wide and his legs swinging under him. 

“You need to sign it,” Kuroo says, handing him a pen, “as proof.” Tsukishima takes it and pauses a moment before leaning over the table to sign his name with a familiar flourish. The ransom note is complete. 

_ Thud.  _

****

One last job. That’s the plan; one last job with Tsukishima and then Hinata has the green light to deliver the letter. They need a clear night to pull it off, and the weather seems intent on delaying them—it’s been raining all week. 

Maybe it’s because his time with them is nearing its end, but Tsukishima starts to notice the routine he’s built over the last two months. When he wakes, Bokuto is often already gone on his daily walk, and Tsukishima will drink his morning tea while watching Akaashi clean his knives. 

Akaashi explained to him where the knives come from: everywhere, as it turns out. Wherever one could potentially fit, he’s hidden a knife there, just in case. 

They spend the rest of the morning in the backyard, where they run through drills together. Sometimes, when Tsukishima gets up early enough to catch Bokuto before he leaves, he’ll join him for the trip, content to listen to his stories. 

Most of his day is spent with Kuroo, working on potential heists and planning details, searching through blueprints for security flaws. 

The four of them usually eat dinner together, the conversation loud and often dissolving into drunken nonsense. Afterwards, Akaashi and Bokuto turn in for the night, Tsukishima never far behind. But sleep has never come easily to him, so he spends a lot of late evenings in Kuroo’s office, perched on his desk.

That’s where Tsukishima finds himself a few days after Hinata’s unwelcome visit. The weather isn’t cooperating just yet; it’s been pouring all day. Even now Tsukishima can hear the sound of rain hitting the windows. He’s never cared much for rain one way or the other, but he’s starting to appreciate it in a way he didn’t before. 

“And then,  _ boom!  _ The whole thing goes up in flames.” Kuroo finishes explaining his plan with a mimed explosion, his feet kicked up on his desk. Tsukishima is on the other side, leaning with his back against it, holding a book open to a random page. He hasn’t looked at it once since he grabbed it off the small bookshelf under the window. It could be in German, for all he knows. 

Ostensibly, he doesn’t come to Kuroo’s office for the  _ company _ —he comes to borrow something to read. It’s a formality at this point, if either of them ever even believed it in the first place. Tsukishima can’t seem to give up the pretense, though, even now. It would be admitting to Kuroo (and himself) that he enjoys spending time with him, that he finds Kuroo’s presence comforting when he can’t sleep. 

“Won’t a huge fire draw attention to us?”

“Bo knows a guy,” Kuroo says with a grin. “Every guard in the city will be told about the ‘illegal contraband’ being burned by the docks; they’ll see it and just ignore it.”

Tsukishima purses his lips, considering this. It’s a very  _ Kuroo  _ solution to the problem—hiding in plain sight. He doesn’t look at the sound of Kuroo getting out of his chair. 

“I didn't know you could speak french.” 

Tsukishima jumps at how close the question is; Kuroo is leaning over his shoulder, looking at the book in his hands. 

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” says Tsukishima, remembering he’s supposed to be reading it. “Right.” Truth is, he barely knows the  _ basics _ of French, certainly not enough to understand this book. He hopes Kuroo doesn’t pry further. 

“I had to learn some French, too. Back in my noble days.” Kuroo steps back to rest against the desk next to Tsukishima. 

“I didn’t really pay attention during my classes.” He could never bring himself to care about most of the language courses his parents forced him through over the years.

“I did.” Kuroo nods sagely. “Fascinating subject.”

Tsukishima raises an eyebrow.

“Fine,” Kuroo relents, “my teacher was really hot.”

This startles a laugh out of Tsukishima. 

Kuroo grins. “Yeah, Monsieur Auger.” He pretends to swoon. “Tall, blond, eyes that could kill. Exactly my type.”

Tsukishima feels a smirk tug at his cheeks. Not too long ago, he would’ve changed the topic and done his best to ignore the flirting. Now, though, he can’t help but push back. “Oh really? Maybe I'll ask for him next time my parents make me take lessons. See what all the fuss is about.”

Kuroo’s smile dims. “Man, I do  _ not  _ envy you.”

“What, he wasn’t hot enough to make up for everything else?” Tsukishima teases. 

“No,” Kuroo says. “He wasn’t.”

“Oh.” Kuroo’s eyes are closed and he releases a long sigh. Tsukishima feels something close to foreboding fill his chest. “You seriously wouldn’t go back, huh.”

“Not for all the gold in the world.” 

Tsukishima swallows. “Was it really that bad?”

Kuroo opens his eyes, hesitating as he fixes them on Tsukishima. “Probably not. It’s only been a few years, but honestly, it feels like an eternity ago, and I’ve spent so long vilifying them in my head…” He shakes his head. “I keep comparing it to the life I have now, you know? I’m so much happier. I actually like the person I am here. And with Akaashi and Bo, well”—he pauses, looking at Tsukishima in a way he knows he won’t be able to forget—“there isn’t much that could make things better.”

Tsukishima is suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to cry. He dodges Kuroo’s eye, staring pointedly at the book on his lap. “Yeah.” 

“You know, Tsukki…” Kuroo clears his throat. “If you wanted, you could—”

“Yeah?” he says, still avoiding his gaze. 

Kuroo fumbles on his words for a moment before giving up, turning to rest his hand on his desk with his shoulders up and his head down. “Fuck,” he whispers, too low. “Akaashi was right, I can’t—”

Tsukishima dares to look up, confused at Kuroo’s behaviour. “What?”

Kuroo shakes his head, coming back to himself. He stands, back straight, and offers him a pale imitation of his usual smirk. “We’re gonna miss you, is all.”

Tsukishima stares at him for a moment, silent. He thinks of the things he could say that would change his life. That he  _ would _ say, were he a little braver. He could tell Kuroo that he’s going to miss them, too, that he doesn’t want to go back, that he understands what Kuroo means about _ liking himself—  _

But Tsukishima’s never thought of himself as a brave man. “It’s getting late,” he says, keeping his voice neutral. “I should go to bed.”

Kuroo laughs goodnaturedly, unsurprised by Tsukishima’s deflection “Yeah, that's a good idea.”

Tsukishima stands on shaky legs and walks to the door as quickly as he can without looking suspicious. He’s just stepped into the hallway when he hears Kuroo’s voice behind him. “Sleep well, princess.”

Tsukishima climbs the stairs to his room, fighting back tears he doesn’t fully understand.

****

The walk to the docks is surprisingly calm and silent. It’s well into the middle of the night, the bright moonlight forcing them to walk in between houses to avoid being spotted by patrolling guards. The nervous energy that usually takes hold of them before a heist is absent; Kuroo and Bokuto are calmly walking side by side, and Akaashi’s expression is blank in a way that feels absent more than attentive. It’s as if the knowledge that this job will be their last is crushing any enthusiasm they might’ve had. 

When they finally reach the docks, unease spreads through Tsukishima’s chest. Ushijima’s warehouse, where he was kept prisoner only a few weeks ago, stands wooden and imposing right by the shoreline. He’s more than happy when Kuroo directs them to the side of the docks opposite to it; if he never sees that building again it’ll be too soon.

They pause when they reach their target: a huge sailboat constructed with harsh, jagged edges and random golden slats along its sides. It might be the ugliest ship Tsukishima has ever seen.

“Remind me why we’re doing this again?” he asks, his voice too loud over the quiet waves.

Kuroo glances at him, clearly confused at the question. “Because Lord Washijou is a dick.”

“And we had too much gunpowder at the house,” continues Bokuto, gesturing to the full satchel hanging off his shoulder.

Akaashi nods. “It was becoming a fire hazard.”

Tsukishima stares. “Are we even getting anything out of this?”

The answers are thrown at him in quick succession.

“The fun of setting something on fire!”

“We get to get rid of that eyesore of a boat.”

“Isn’t pissing off an old rich guy enough?”

Tsukishima isn’t given enough time to react before all three of them are hurrying to climb aboard. Bokuto shouts from the deck, “Hurry up, Tsukki!” 

Tsukishima follows them with a scowl, gripping the boat with all his might to avoid slipping and falling into the freezing waters. He pulls his body up over the railing and steadies himself when he feels the ship rocking gently underneath him. It’s deck is just as angular and bizarrely ornamented as the rest of it. Gold covers a seemingly random collection of surfaces, clearly more to demonstrate the owner’s wealth than for any aesthetic purpose. Tsukishima curls up his lip at the sight. 

Bokuto is slowly letting the gunpowder out of the satchel, spreading it in some sort of pattern on the deck. 

“You know,” Kuroo is saying to him, “once we light it up it won’t matter what it looks like.”

“We really should hurry.” Akaashi crosses his arms over his chest, looking out over the empty docks. 

“But Akaashi,” whines Bokuto, “It’s gonna look so cool!”

Curious, Tsukishima moves closer to look at the mess of gunpowder. Bokuto arranged it to look like a large bird mid flight. The wind blows some of the powder out of place, but it only serves to make the drawing seem more alive. After adding a few feathers to the wings, Bokuto takes a step back, a satisfied grin on his face. “Tell me, Akaashi, doesn’t it look awesome?”

Akaashi stares at it for a moment, squinting, before slowly nodding. “It’s nice.”

Bokuto’s grin widens and Tsukishima feels something lurch in his stomach. He tries to not let it show on his face, but a quick glance at Akaashi tells him it doesn’t work. It never does. 

He hears a familiar scratching noise and turns to see Kuroo holding a lit match. He lifts it up close to his face, lighting up his confident smirk. “Ready to turn this bird into a phoenix?”

The other two nod, Bokuto still grinning, but make no attempt to get out of the way. Kuroo moves his arm, ready to throw the match, and Tsukishima panics, gripping his wrist and stopping him in his tracks.

Tsukishima takes in their confused looks; none of them look worried in the slightest. Bokuto is even bouncing on his heels in excitement. “Shouldn’t we get off the boat first?  _ Before  _ we set it on fire?”

Kuroo pauses to consider this, slowly shaking his hand out of Tsukishima’s hold to extinguish the flame. His mischievous smirk returns full force as he meets Tsukishima’s eyes. “Nah.” 

Tsukishima frowns. “There’s gotta be a better way to do this,” he argues. “We could set up a trail to the shore or—”

“Yeah, but this is more fun,” he says, lighting a second match from his pocket. Akaashi and Bokuto move until all four of them are against the side of the boat.

“But—”

Kuroo throws the match. The effect is instant: the gunpowder catches fire all at once. The flames spread across the entire deck in a matter of seconds.

“Jump!”

Tsukishima doesn’t hesitate; he dives overboard in time with the others. He has a brief moment midair where he hears Bokuto yelling “Cannonball!” before he breaks the surface of the water head first. His lungs seize at the sudden, brutal drop in temperature. Struggling against his clothes as they weigh him down, he swims away from the ship, unsure of his destination. He turns his head in jerky motions, trying to orient himself, but the movement does nothing but bring his hair forward, obscuring his view. 

A large flaming plank breaks off the ship and lands in the water near him, too close for Tsukishima’s liking. The odds of getting hit by a burning piece of wood if he swims up to breathe are high. He’s about to go for it anyways, just to try and figure out where he should go next, when movement catches his eye. Through the darkened strands of his hair, he can see Kuroo and Bokuto swimming right ahead, waving their arms at him and pointing to what must be the nearest dock. Tsukishima moves towards them rapidly, eager to get away from the crumbling ship. 

His head emerges into warm air when he reaches them, and he coughs and sputters, blindly reaching for something to hold onto. A slick hand wraps around his forearm, pulling him up onto dry land. Tsukishima blinks the water out of his eyes and sees that the night now glows orange. 

Akaashi is still holding onto him, cheeks flush and a reassuring look on his face. Kuroo is next to him, his hair flattened by sea water; he winces when Bokuto shakes his head like a wet dog and the droplets hit his face. 

Tsukishima thinks he might miss this.

Behind them, the fire roars. The ship splinters and crumbles, pieces of charred wood floating in the water through flurries of golden sparks. Tsukishima actually finds it pleasant to look at, now that he’s no longer in danger of being burnt alive. He stares at it, eyes prickling at the bright light, and shivers, his front too warm and his back too cold. 

The adrenaline dissipates and exhaustion takes its place. With a sigh, Tsukishima sits along the shore, wringing his shirt as he does so. 

The others join him, and they sit side by side at the edge of the water. Akaashi wraps an arm around Kuroo, who rests his arm against Tsukishima’s back. Bokuto, behind him, drops his head onto Tsukishima’s shoulder. He’s never been one for touch—has often shoved Boktuo and others off of him, but he doesn’t protest at the contact now. He presses back against Bokuto, resting his head against his.

They sit there in silence for a long time, watching the ship slowly turn to ashes. Their own private fireworks show.

Eventually, the flames die down, leaving them with nothing but the sound of the waves and the glow of the stars. 

It’s Akaashi who breaks the quiet. “Hey, Tsukki.”

“Hm?”

“The moon. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Tsukishima feels Kuroo tense all over and hears Bokuto’s weak, “Akaashi…”

He frowns, not understanding their reactions, and gazes up at the moon. It looks the same as it always has, if a bit obscured by some residual smoke. He turns to Akaashi, noncommittal as he starts, “I guess it—”

Akaashi deep blue eyes stare at him with an intense sadness that Tsukishima has never seen before. He swallows, his sentence interrupted, and tries again. His mouth is dry. “I guess it is, yeah.”

He’s quick to look away, feeling both Bokuto and Kuroo get just a little closer.

They leave just when the sun begins to rise, and Tsukishima feels as though he left something behind on that dock. 

Something he’s not sure he should’ve let go.

****

Tsukishima gets ready to return to the castle alone. 

Warm light streams through the window into the room that he’s inadvertently started to consider  _ his _ . When he first arrived at the thieves’ home, he shed his fancy party clothes and left them in a pile on the floor. He’s been wearing Kuroo’s clothes since—he’s the closest in height to Tsukishima. 

The ornate outfit is still there, kicked into the corner and collecting dust. He brushes it off and pulls it on quickly. The difference to Kuroo’s clothes and this are immediately apparent—the collar is so high as to be suffocating. Tsukishima imagines trying to train with Akaashi in the crisp fabric and shudders. 

He hesitates at his hair. He would pull it back every day, even before coming here where it’s become a necessity. The length makes it unwieldy, inconvenient to manage. 

But today… he leaves it loose. There’ll be no doubt to his identity this way. 

When he makes his way downstairs—for the last time, his brain helpfully reminds him—the others are having a whispered argument. They stop when they hear him coming. 

Bokuto is frowning where he sits at the table, tapping his fingers against the wood. Kuroo’s arms are crossed. Akaashi stands by the door, his face as impassive as ever—but Tsukishima thinks he sees his eyes tighten at the sight of him in his royal clothes. 

“Want some food, or—” Bokuto starts to ask. Tsukishima shakes his head before he can finish. He wants to get this over with. 

They leave. As per the ransom note that Hinata delivered sometime in the last day, they’re headed to the meeting point. They’ll leave Tsukishima a few blocks away with Akaashi to watch him while Kuroo and Bokuto go to the location they chose for the handoff. The royals were instructed to leave the ransom money—a hefty amount, after everything—unguarded. If they follow those instructions, Tsukishima will go to the spot himself, alone and unharmed, where they can pick him up and take him home. 

Home. He doesn’t know what that word means to him anymore. 

He and Akaashi don’t speak while they wait. Tsukishima stands straight, tense; these stiff formal clothes stop him from being able to  _ relax _ , even when he’s not doing anything. 

Kuroo and Bokuto round the corner, carrying several heavy bags of gold. 

“Don’t spend it all in one place,” Tsukishima says, deadpan. No one laughs. Tsukishima almost forgot that the whole point of  _ this _ was for them to get their money. 

“Do you know where you’re going?” Kuroo checks. There’s nothing in his voice that gives anything away, but he’s staring at the ground like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. 

“I’m not an  _ idiot _ , yes I know where I’m going.” Tsukishima scoffs and rolls his eyes. It comes out meaner than he wanted to, sharper—how does he talk to them, in these clothes, about to leave them forever? 

“Tsukki.” He turns to Bokuto, who’s hand is stretched out towards him. He drops it when Tsukishima looks at him. “You uh—” Bokuto looks at Akaashi before soldiering on. “You know where to find us, yeah? If you ever want to visit, or anything…” He trails off, looking intently at Tsukishima’s face. 

Tsukishima bites his cheek in an effort to keep from shouting. Visit them? The idea is ridiculous, absurd, the height of stupidity. He wants to yell at Bokuto, at all of them. But he knows he isn’t mad at them, these men who took him in despite the risks and against all odds became his friends. So he just says, “Of course,” softer than planned. From the look on Bokuto’s face, it’s clear how empty those words are. No, Tsukishima won’t be coming to visit. This is the last time he’ll ever see them. 

Maybe it’s that thought that stops him from leaving immediately. There’s certainly no  _ rational _ reason for him to still be standing here. He feels like he’s waiting for something. But of course, there’s nothing. After a beat of tense silence full of things unsaid, Tsukishima sighs and starts walking away. 

“Tsukki.” He stops and looks at Akaashi, who’s wrapped an arm around Bokuto’s waist. “Goodbye.”

Tsukishima feels a lump in his throat and it’s a moment before he can reply. “Goodbye.”

He leaves without looking back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Japanese novelist Natsume Soseki (1868–1912) of the Meiji period produced the phrase “the moon is beautiful” to express the Japanese equivalent of “I love you.” [(x)](https://tospeakjustice.wordpress.com/2016/01/13/the-moon-is-beautiful-isnt-it/%22)


	9. Filthy Rich

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the angst. except we're not sorry. thanks for all the nice comments!! <3 here's a longer chapter in reward for your patience. 
> 
> follow us on tumblr [here](https://amateurbunburyist.tumblr.com/) and [here](https://maudit-innocent.tumblr.com/)

Tsukishima doesn’t register the walk to the meeting point; barely even notices his surroundings as he reaches the palace guards. There’s a brief moment of panic when he spots them, as if he’s been  _ caught _ . But he’s not a thief, not anymore, and so the feeling passes.

The guards sent to collect him are armed in their typical uniforms and wearing his family crest, Yamaguchi waiting among them. 

Tsukishima’s pulled into a hug and doesn’t protest, for once, his eyes stinging. The questions being flung his way— _ Are you okay, Your Highness? Are they with you, Your Highness? Are you hurt, Your Highness?— _ fade away as he hugs Yamaguchi back. With everything going on during his time with the thieves, Tsukishima forgot to miss him and it hits him all at once.  __

Tsukishima is the first to pull away. Yamaguchi steps back obediently, but offers him a watery smile. He doesn’t say anything, which Tsukishima appreciates. 

They herd Tsukishima into a carriage. He ignores their questions but does what he’s told. 

Settled into his seat across from Yamaguchi with a guard next to both of them, Tsukishima remembers that he hasn’t slept yet—his eyes are heavy. He closes them for a moment, wishing he didn’t have to stay conscious. 

Yamaguchi interrupts his half-hearted attempt at sleeping. “They wouldn’t let Akiteru come.”

Of course not; the risk would be too high, to bring the crown prince along to a handoff with criminals, whereas Yamaguchi is just a stable boy. Tsukishima notes with resignation that his parents go unmentioned. 

He opens his eyes long enough to say, “Didn’t ask,” before closing them again. Not long enough to miss Yamaguchi’s eye roll, though. 

He spends the rest of the ride in a tired daze, only roused when the carriage jolts to a stop. He steps out into the courtyard, the palace looming in front of him. He suppresses a sigh.

He walks toward the front entrance, the guards following him like a shadow, Yamaguchi not far behind. 

God. He didn’t miss  _ that _ . The constant entourage. 

His family is waiting when he steps through the doorway and into the castle’s large atrium. He gets a brief moment to take them in before they see him— Akiteru is pacing while his parents stand and watch. None of them are speaking. 

At the sound of his approach, Tsukishima only has a moment to process his parents expressions—shock and relief—before Akiteru is tackling him. 

Thank god for Akaashi’s combat training, or he’d be on the ground right now. He shoves his brother off him with a grimace. 

Akiteru goes easily, bouncing on his feet and a wild grin on his face. “Kei! You're alive! How are you, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I just need some sleep.” Tsukishima feels empty, like he lost a limb, and can’t find it in himself to give the lies he prepared right now. His tone is sullen and Akiteru’s face falls. “We can talk later.” 

Tsukishima doesn’t wait for a reply before starting towards his chambers. He’s stopped by his father when he places a hand on his arm. He’s quick to remove it, keeping both wrists crossed behind his back. His mother is at his father’s side, both still standing proper before their audience of guards and palace residents. 

“I’m glad you’re alright, Kei. We’ll talk about this after you’ve slept.” The words are innocuous, but Tsukishima still feels his eyes twitch. His mother looks like she wants to say something as well. 

He walks away before she can get the chance. 

****

Tsukishima doesn’t open his eyes when he wakes. He knows he was dreaming, but he can’t quite remember it. All that comes back to him is impressions of  _ hands _ and an intense feeling of happiness. His chest aches.

He reaches blindly for his glasses, his eyes blinking open. He starts; the blurry ornate ceiling that greets him is not the sight he expected and it takes him a minute to realize why. When he does, the disappointment leaves him breathless. Right. He’s in his bed at the castle, not the spare room across the hall from Kuroo, Bokuto and Akaashi. 

There’s not a lot of sun allowed into his room with the thick curtains pulled shut, but what little light makes it in is the soft warmth of mid afternoon. Tsukishima pulls his pillow over his head and groans, his glasses forgotten. 

Maybe if he stays like this long enough, the world will forget his existence. 

After a while his bladder demands attention, though, and he reluctantly rolls out of bed to take care of it. He figures he might as well get dressed; as much as he’d like to, there’s no way he’s falling back asleep. 

What now? 

Before his kidnapping, he had lessons a few times a week, but other than that he was left to his own devices. Nothing to do but sit around and wait for the next party, which would always be just as boring as everything else, but with more people. He could go back to his usual ways of passing the time—hiding from his brother in remote parts of the castle with a book, waiting for Yamaguchi to get off work. His life at the castle is defined by boredom; maybe it was naive of him to think that it would take longer for it to set back in after his ‘vacation.’ 

With nothing better to do and a claustrophobia building in his chest the longer he stays in his room, he meanders into the halls without a direction in mind. 

He considers heading to the stables where he’ll find Yamaguchi, see if he can persuade him away from work for a while. He shakes his head; Yamaguchi is too perceptive, and Tsukishima doesn’t have the energy to filter himself.

So he wanders. 

The castle is always bustling and full of people; today is no different. Servants hurry along, many juggling too much in their arms, looking harried. Low level nobles cause congestion when they stop to gossip in the middle of the hall with no regard to anyone trying to get by. Palace guards patrol with watchful eyes.

Have they always given him such a wide berth? 

As he strides along with more purpose than he feels, his expression blank, he knows all their eyes are on him. It’s not unfamiliar, after all these years, but the whispers are new. He narrows his eyes and lifts his chin. He moves to the library—at least there he can hide in the stacks of books away from curious eyes. 

On the way there, he’s stopped by the sound of his name. He turns and sees Akiteru waving at him, the person next to him politely dodging his arms. Tsukishima stops, looking mournfully around him at the complete lack of escape routes. 

He waits for Akiteru to come to him, rather than meeting him halfway. He gets a petty sense of satisfaction at watching the Crown Prince do a half-jog along the hallway so as to not keep him waiting. 

Tsukishima doesn’t speak when he reaches him, only raises an eyebrow. 

“Kei! The guards are looking for you. They need to ask you some questions about, well, you know.” Akiteru slams his fist into his hand, looking more intense than Tsukishima is used to from his carefree brother. “We need to send a message that they can’t get away with what they did.”

Tsukishima purses his lips. “I don’t know how much I’ll be able to help. It’s not like they gave me a map to their exact location.” He tries his hardest to believe the lie.

“Still, every bit of information could help, you never know. You should head to the guards quarters as soon as you can.”

Tsukishima nods, once. He might as well go there now and get it over with; but he isn’t going to mention that to Akiteru. “Are we done?”

Akiteru sighs, frowning. He reaches out to tuck a flyaway hair of Tsukishima’s back where it belongs, to which Tsukishima barely resists the urge to smack his hand away. “Yeah, we’re done. Oh, and Mom and Dad want to have dinner tonight. Don’t be late.”

With that, Akiteru walks off and is immediately besieged by several people needing to talk to him. Tsukishima is exhausted just watching him (and at the thought of dinner with his parents) but Akiteru does it all with a smile on his face. 

His brother has always been better suited for this life than him. He shakes off the thought and towards the guards’ quarters. 

When he gets there, three guards are standing around the equipment filled room, chatting. They stop as the sight of him and greet him with a low bow. Tsukishima keeps his grimace short enough that it’s gone by the time they’re all upright again. 

He tells them why he’s there and two of them leave, while the third sits him down and starts asking him questions. 

Before leaving, he practiced his answers with Kuroo until they became second nature. He’s grateful for it now as he delivers them blankly, mind elsewhere. 

No, he never saw their faces. No, he doesn’t know where he was. They grabbed him after he slipped his guards for a late night walk outside the palace. No, they never hurt him.

At that, the guard looks at his wrists in disbelief—the scarring is raised and ugly from his  _ real _ kidnapping.

“I did that myself, trying to escape,” he explains flatly, pulling his sleeves down. 

She looks impressed with him as she says, “You should have the physician look at those, just in case.” She shuffles her notes. “It seems you were very lucky, Your Highness. We’ll have to increase the security around the castle until we catch them, of course. You’re in safe hands now.”

_ Of course.  _ He should have expected this. He considers arguing—he was never in any real danger, and even in the fake story he and Kuroo concocted, more guards wouldn’t have prevented his kidnapping. But what’s the point? He’s going to be followed and watched for the rest of his life; the exact amount of people doing it isn’t all that important. 

Dismissed, he realizes he’s running late for dinner. He doesn’t bother going back to his chambers to change; if they say anything, he’ll say he forgot proper etiquette while he was locked in a basement for two months. He isn’t above using this situation to his advantage. 

He walks into the marbled dining room as they’re bringing the first course out. He ignores his father’s glare and sits down in his usual spot at the large mahogany table, next to his mother and across from Akiteru. There’s a bowl of soup placed in front of him, amidst a sea of cutlery; he ignores it for the piece of bread brought out with the dish instead.

They’re staring at him—quick to glance away every time he looks up.

He rolls his eyes. Great. Well, if no one wants to say anything, Tsukishima is just fine with that. 

His mother is the first to break the silence. “It’s been a while since we’ve had a family dinner like this, hasn’t it?” She chuckles weakly. 

_ Because I was kidnapped for ransom _ , Tsukishima finishes for her. He guesses they aren’t mentioning it, then. He puts the bread down without eating anymore. 

Akiteru makes a non-committal noise and then the room is quiet again. He can hear the sound of his father politely blowing on his soup at the head of the table, and starts calculating how long he’ll have to sit here before he can leave. 

His mother is undeterred by the tense atmosphere. “Akiteru, how is the planning going? You added Lord Arima to the list like I asked, didn’t you?”

Akiteru nods. “We sent out the invites earlier today; everything's coming together nicely.” He dabs his mouth with a cloth, frowning. “I just hope we’ll be able to have good news to share with everyone. Besides Kei’s return, of course.”

Another party. Tsukishima narrows his eyes. 

His father chimes in, “It would be something to be able to say those criminals are dead and gone, wouldn’t it!” He gives a hearty chuckle and Tsukishima’s eyes narrow further. Are they— talking about Kuroo, Bokuto, and Akaashi? 

“What are you talking about?” Tsukishima asks.

His mother looks at him in surprise. “Your welcome home party, dear. Did no one tell you?”

Akiteru smiles at him. “We need to let everyone know that you’re okay. The fugitives who took you need to see that we aren’t scared of them.”

Tsukishima, despite his best efforts, can’t stop himself from grimacing. The  _ last _ thing he wants is another party thrown in his honour—the last one had been bad enough, and it had the benefit of the thieves to keep it interesting.

His mother puts her spoon down and gives him a stern look. “What is it, Kei?”

There’s a glass in front of him—he grabs it and takes a long gulp instead of answering. A party? Are they serious? 

Now his father has stopped eating to stare at him as well. Tsukishima puts his cup down, wiping the excess away from his mouth. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. This all started with the suitor ball, remember? Can’t we just do a royal declaration or something?”

“Kei, let’s not go over this again. These celebrations are an important part of the image we project as royals. And suitor balls are unavoidable at your age; you know you need to get married sooner or later.” His father says reasonably, as if it’s obvious.

Tsukishima’s blood runs cold. “I  _ need _ to get married? What happens if I don’t?”

“Kei, don’t say such things—” his mother attempts, but he’s standing. 

“Enjoy your party,” he says. “I hope it goes well for you.” As if he’ll be able to get out of it, but he’s mad enough that that doesn’t matter. His food sits cold and forgotten on the table. 

“Kei—” Akiteru starts but Tsukishima is already out the door. 

****

He ends up at the stables, inevitably. The sun is starting to set and Yamaguchi should be finishing up his work. But when Tsukishima walks into the barn, Yamaguchi isn’t there putting away gear or cleaning the stalls. He finds him curled up on a stack of hay beside his favourite horse. He’s muttering to himself and scribbling on a piece of paper. 

Tsukishima opens the stall’s gate and slips inside, petting the horse’s neck. Yamaguchi looks up and blushes when he sees Tsukishima. He hides the paper behind his back belatedly, as if Tsuksihima hasn’t already seen it. 

“Tsukki! I—uh, didn’t see you there.” Yamaguchi offers him a weak chuckle. After a day of  _ your Highness _ and  _ Kei _ , it feels like a breath of fresh air to be called  _ Tsukki _ again. 

“Let me see,” he says, reaching out to take the paper from him. Yamaguchi scurries back, holding it away from him. 

“It’s nothing, just a list! Of supplies! For —uh. For horses!”

But he’s quite literally cornered, and Tsukishima gets the paper from him after a brief scuffle. He adjusts his glasses from where they were skewed in the fight, pushing away a still weakly struggling Yamaguchi, and begins to read. 

“ _ My dearest Yachi, How my heart longs for you _ —” Tsukishima stops abruptly to peer down at Yamaguchi in disbelief. “Is this a love letter?”

Yamaguchi covers his face with his hands. “No.”

“Are you sure about that?” Tsukishima goes to read more of the paper, covered in surprisingly neat handwriting, but Yamaguchi grabs his wrist. 

“Ugh, fine, yes. It’s a love letter.”

A smug grin tugs at his lips. “I was  _ kidnapped _ , and you were falling in love? Yamaguchi, I thought we were better friends than that.” In truth, relief spreads through him. He left Yamaguchi, his only friend, without a second thought; it eases his guilt to know that he wasn’t alone the entire time. 

“Sorry, Tsukki.” Yamaguchi rolls his eyes. 

“Who are they?”

“Her name is Yachi.” Yamaugchi rubs a bashful hand against the back of his neck. “She works for Lord Nohebi; one of the kitchen servants introduced us.”

Nohebi—the man who was cruel to his servants; the man they robbed of expensive wine. Poor Yachi. 

Rather than remembering  _ fire  _ and _ heat _ , he raises his eyebrows. “Are you two…?”

Yamaguchi takes a moment to process and then starts frantically waving his hands. “No! It’s not like that at all. She’s leaving soon, and it’s not like I can offer her much to stay.”

Tsukishima frowns. “Where is she going?”

Yamaguchi looks at his hands. “She says she doesn’t know. Her life isn’t very good here; she deserves a chance at something better.”

Tsukishima can certainly understand  _ that _ . But still, Yamaguchi is clearly upset, so— “I can try and get her hired here, if you’d like.”

He’s immediately uncomfortable with how surprised Yamaguchi looks. “Really?”

He shifts. “Why would I offer if I wasn’t serious?”

Yamaguchi grins. “Aww, Tsukki! You’re so sweet.” His face falls. “I don’t think Yachi would like that, though. She doesn’t want to be a servant forever.”

Tsukishima is weirdly disappointed that he can’t help Yamaguchi with his love life. At least one of them should get a chance at happiness, right?

As if he sensed the souring of Tsukishima’s mood, Yamaguchi’s brows furrow in concern. “Hey, are you alright?”

Well,  _ no,  _ but Tsukishima bristles anyway. “Why wouldn’t I be alright?”

Yamaguchi looks unimpressed. He holds up a finger. “First, that was super defensive. Second, you only come to the stables when someone pisses you off because you find the horses calming. What happened?”

Tsukishima crosses his arms. “My parents want to throw a party. I don't want to get married. People stormed off. Same as always.”

Yamaguchi’s eyes widen. “Tsukki,” he groans, familiar with the many iterations of that particular fight. 

“They started it!” Tsukishima defends himself petulantly. “They’ve barely said two words to me since I’ve been back, but they have the time to plan a fucking party?”

Yamaguchi looks at him for a moment before giving him a sympathetic pat on the back. “Wanna go for a ride?”

Anything to get away from the castle. “ _ God _ yes.”

Yamaguchi gets the horses ready with Tsukishima’s help and they head out. By the time they return, night has fully set in and the conversation with his parents is forgotten. 

********

The days after he’s returned are uneventful. He can’t avoid his family forever, and they’re more than willing to just ignore the fight if it means getting along. The party planning continues, but Tsukishima doesn’t bother arguing again. This is his life, and there isn’t much more he can do about it. The only saving grace, as usual, is Yamaguchi—he spends most of his free time hovering by his side and avoiding everyone else.

It’s two weeks after his return that things take a turn for the worse. He’s sitting outside by the edge of the stables again, wasting time staring at the clouds while Yamaguchi carefully braids the mane of a horse easily twice his size. The boredom is getting to him; he’s finding it harder and harder to keep his eyes open.

Yamaguchi’s constant yawning isn’t helping.

It’s after the fifth yawn in as many minutes that Tsukishima snaps. “Do you need a nap?” 

The lack of sincerity in his voice is obvious and Yamaguchi smiles sheepishly. “Sorry, Tsukki. There was a lot of noise coming from the dungeons last night. It kept everyone in the servant’s quarters awake.” He shrugs. “No one got any real sleep.”

Tsukishima hums noncommittally. “What happened?” he asks to stifle a yawn of his own.

“You know how Lord Washijou’s ship burned down a few weeks ago?”

Tsukishima feels his heart stop. Yamaguchi continues, unaware of his inner panic. “They caught the guy who did it. They brought him in around midnight yesterday and apparently— Hey, where are you going?”

But Tsukishima is already gone, practically running to the dungeons. His mind is blank and his heart is beating too fast in his chest with a nauseating mix of panic and anticipation.

He skids to a halt at the dungeons’ entrance, struggling to keep his breathing under control. The two guards keeping watch there stammer their welcomes, confused at his sudden arrival. He’s quick to interrupt them. “Where’s the arsonist you arrested yesterday?”

The first guard just stares at Tsukishima like he’s grown another head while the second guard points to the end of the hall uneasily. With a nod, Tsukishima moves in that direction, past the long row of barred cells. 

Despite being constructed above ground, the dungeons are dark and humid, with thick stone walls and high windows. The light is so weak he almost misses the prisoner in the last cell. He’s sitting against the back wall, arms resting on his knees and head hanging loosely downwards. 

Tsukishima freezes at the sight of his hair, bright and red.

“What a pleasure it is to see you again, Your Majesty,” Tendou says, slowly raising his head to flash his teeth. “And to think I was starting to doubt myself.” He stretches his legs out, looking smug. “But here you are. Turns out, I know a royal brat when I see one. To what do I owe the honour, my prince?”

The panic drains away to be replaced with an intense feeling of vindication. He’s back in his comfort zone when he smirks and says, “Didn’t want to miss the opportunity to see you locked up.” 

Tendou pulls up a matching smirk. “You say that as if I were the prisoner here.” 

“I don’t see any shackles around  _ my  _ ankles.” Talking with Tendou is like getting lost in a maze—you never know which turns to take to get to the place you want. 

“Ah, but these chains will come off.” Tendou wiggles his legs to make them rattle in demonstration, grinning. “I know I didn’t burn that boat, and I’m guessing you know it, too. I won’t be here long. But you? You looked less miserable tied up in my warehouse.”

Tsukishima grits his teeth. Why is he still talking to him? 

“What is your life now, anyway? Just sitting around looking pretty, waiting for servants to braid your hair?” Tendou says with a laugh, like the idea is hilarious. 

Tsukishima narrows his eyes. “I am the prince, I can— 

Tsukishima is startled into silence when Tendou stands in a quick movement. “Can what? Command your father’s wars? Help the poor? Assist the lawmakers? Please.” Tendou walks slowly towards him and Tsukishima resists the urge to back up—there are bars between them, guards are only a yell away, he’s  _ safe. _ “You’re not next in line for the crown, you don’t have any political sway. You’re Tsukishima Kei, the lonely prince, unapproachable and mean.” Tendou grins and grabs onto the bars. “You have as much power around here as I do.”

“I have enough to keep you here.” Tsukishima’s impassive mask is getting harder and harder to keep up, but he tries. Tendou is just playing mind games— 

“You’d keep an innocent man imprisoned? How  _ cruel _ .” He draws the last word out while swinging backwards, holding onto the bars. He laughs.

“You’re not innocent,” Tsukishima spits, touching the scars on his wrist. 

“Maybe, maybe not.” Tendou shrugs. “But I’ve never set foot near Washijou’s boat. They only took me in because my boss’s warehouse was nearby, and they needed someone to take the fall. Unfortunate coincidence.” He leers at him suggestively and Tsukishima frowns at his implications.

“You can’t prove that.” Can he?

“No, but maybe I can point them in the right direction.” Tendou taps one long finger against his chin and tilts his head to the side. “Let’s see, to pull this off you’d need to make sure no one comes to check on the fire. I’m guessing this requires someone to feed the guards false information. Someone gullible and stupid enough to make friends with them.”

“Shut up.” 

“And of course, you’d need something to start the fire. Gunpowder, most likely. You’d need someone with weaponry expertise to know how to use it properly. Someone”—Tendou grins, manic—“a bit stoic, maybe. Like a reckless, uncaring statue.”

“Shut.  _ Up _ .”

“Oh, and how could I forget!” Tendou says in false surprise. “You need someone to come up with this stupid plan. Someone so full of themselves that they’d do just about anything to piss off the nobility. To stick it to mom and dad.”

Tsukishima grips the bars and shouts, “I said shut up!”

Tendou grabs his arm and puts his face right up against the bars, forcing Tsukishima to stay close as he snarls, “I’ll do whatever I want. Because I’m here for something you did, you fucking spoiled brat.” 

Tendou’s nails are digging into his arm painfully, but Tsukishima only smiles mirthlessly. “And I’d do it again just to see you get what you deserve.”

Tendou releases him and steps back, all the anger on his face gone as he inhales deeply, grinning with his head back. “God, I just love being proven right.”

“What?”

“You know, I wasn’t sure. I mean,” he smiles, “I had my suspicions.”

Tsukishima’s eyes widen in horror. “You didn’t know.”

Tendou shrugs noncommittally. “I guessed. And now I have you to thank for confirming it for me.” Tendou leers, his eyes as wide as his grin, all teeth. “How could I ever repay you, Your Majesty?” 

Tsukishima refuses to show how unnerved he is. “You can rot in this cell forever for all I care.”

“You’re right, I have plenty of time to think about it. I’m sure I can come up with  _ something _ . Anything for my prince.” Tendou settles back down onto the ground in the same spot that Tsukishima found him and starts humming to himself. 

He’s crazy, Tsukishima decides. He doesn’t have to stay here and listen to this; he should have left as soon as he saw Tendou. He turns on his heel and leaves without another word. 

He hears Tendou start laughing behind him, echoing unpleasantly against the dungeon walls. Tsukishima shivers, and the sound follows him to the exit.

****

Dinner that evening is more tolerable than usual simply because Tsukishima is too checked out to pay any attention. His father is talking, his mother is nodding in agreement, and his brother is laughing over their golden silverware, but all Tsukishima can hear is Tendou’s words playing on a loop in his mind. He keeps his expression blank and his eyes forward. The last thing he wants is for anyone at the table to notice anything strange and start asking questions. 

His daze is interrupted, however, when his father opens a bottle of wine with a wide smile.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit early to celebrate?” chastises his mother.

“Of course not! Tonight, these outlaws will be caught, and we can finally put this nasty business behind us.”

Tsukishima feels his mouth go dry. 

Akiteru holds out his cup for his father to fill. “Already? I didn’t realize the investigation was going so well.”

“It wasn’t,” the king says after putting down the bottle. “But today was a day of progress! We released the arsonist we arrested yesterday in exchange for some information. You know how all these miscreants are familiar with each other. No doubt Washijou will be upset, but some things take priority.”

Tsukishima isn’t sure if he’s still breathing. His vision is tunneling on his father’s cup and his thoughts jostle for a spot at the forefront of his mind. 

“There were only three, if you can believe it! The arsonist gave us detailed knowledge of their typical whereabouts, their hideout, and even some very thorough descriptions of their appearances. I believe the guards are forming a plan of attack as we speak!”

Tsukishima doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t want to think it possible that his father’s men actually found them. He shuts his eyes and braces for impact. 

“We’ll make an example of them. We’ll show the world that nobody should even  _ attempt _ to lay a hand on my son.” His father laughs. 

Tsukishima stands abruptly, his chair scraping the floor and his utensils clinking as his movement shakes the table. His family turns to him at the noise.

“Kei?” asks his mother, concerned.

“I n-need some air,” he stutters. “Please excuse me.”

He bolts from the dining room, rushing up the stairs and into his chambers, mind buzzing. This is what Tendou meant; he’s sold them out for his freedom. And now. Now—Tsukishima can’t think, there’s too much dread and fear in his head to leave any room for rational thought. All that’s left is a panicked mantra of  _ this is your fault, if only you’d kept your mouth shut, this is your fault, they’re going to get caught because of you—  _

“Tsukki, what’s wrong?”

Tsukishima jumps and spins around to see Yamaguchi closing his chamber doors. He must have left them open when he came in. Yamaguchi looks at him like he’s a spooked animal.

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

Yamaguchi scoffs. “Oh no, you aren’t. You’re pacing.”

Tsukishima stops in his tracks, surprised. He hadn’t even noticed. “So?”

“So? You, Tsukishima Kei, are voluntarily doing exercise when you could be lying down, sulking.” Yamaguchi crosses his arms. “Something’s wrong.”

Despite everything, Tsukishima finds it in himself to be insulted. “I do not  _ sulk _ .”

“Yes, you do! All you’ve done ever since you came back is sit around and brood. You’d think you’d be happier after being rescued from kidnappers!”

“You just said that was normal behaviour for me.”

Yamaguchi lets out an exasperated sigh. “Yeah, but now it’s gotten worse. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Tsukishima doesn’t answer, and Yamaguchi takes a step closer, eyes fixed on him. “Tsukki… What happened at dinner?”

Tsukishima considers lying to him again, but quickly comes to the conclusion that there’s no point. He has nothing left to lose. “My parents. They, uh, the guards found where they are. They’re going to arrest them. Probably tonight. Almost definitely tonight.”

Yamaguchi frowns. “Who? The people who kidnapped you?”

Tsukishima gives him a sharp nod.

“And that’s— bad?”

Tsukishima looks away, feeling caught. 

“How is that bad, Tsukki?” he exclaims. “I know you spent a lot of time with them but come on! In case you forgot, they  _ kidnapped  _ you. They’re bad people who deserve to be arrested. You should be thanking your parents, for once. Your life was in danger—”

That’s true.

“ —you could’ve been seriously hurt—”

That’s also true.

“ —they  _ took you _ against your will and—”

That— 

“That’s not true,” interrupts Tsukishima.

Yamaguchi stops, taken aback. “I’m sorry, what?”

He exhales, certain that he’s going to regret what he’s about to say. “They never  _ made _ me do anything.”

Yamaguchi blinks. 

“That night,” continues Tsukishima, “after the party, three thieves came to rob the castle. I caught them and asked them to take me with them. They said yes after I told them they could get a ransom.”

Yamaguchi couldn’t look more surprised if Tsukishima turned into a goose and flew out the window. He takes a step back. “So, all of this…”

“None of it was real, okay? I needed an out from this place, I needed to just _go_ and I took the first escape route I could think of. This isn’t their fault, and they certainly don't deserve to get arrested.”

“I mean, they’re still criminals…”

Tsukishima feels like screaming. “It doesn’t matter! They never hurt anyone, they only take from people who have too much. They’re kind and harmless and my parents want to make a spectacle of their punishment. They’ll be  _ executed,  _ Yamaguchi.” His voice breaks. He has to fight not to let the scenario play out in his head. 

Yamaguchi stares at him, considering. After a moment, he nods. “What are we going to do about it, then?”

The sudden shift gives Tsukishima whiplash. “What?”

“You said that they’re good people and they’re in danger.” Yamaguchi looks fierce. “What are we going to do?”

Tsukishima laughs, hysterical. “There’s nothing we  _ can _ do.”

“You can always do something, Tsukki.”

Tsukishima’s heart has been beating too fast for too long now, and a sort of defeated exhaustion sets in. He lowers his head. “Not this time.” 

With a frustrated groan, Yamaguchi stalks towards him, gripping his shirt by the collar and making him stumble forward. 

Tsukishima tugs on his wrist, eyes wide. “Let me go!”

“No! I am not going to let you give up. You clearly care about these guys and—”

He slumps in his grip. “Shut up, Yamaguchi.”

“No,  _ you  _ shut up, Tsukki! Listen to me—”

Tsukishima pulls Yamaguchi’s hand off his shirt, his frustration resurfacing. “Fuck off, I’m not going to sit here and listen to you talk my ear off about some inspirational bullshit that isn’t going to  _ go _ anywhere. You say we can do something, and yeah, I guess we can, can’t we? How about we send them a letter to warn them? Of course, it’ll get to their house three days after their arrest,  _ if _ we’re lucky. Then what? We could always break them out of jail. Why not, right? That won’t stop them from being wanted criminals for the rest of their lives. We could maybe help them at their trial, if they even get one. Can you picture it? Mad prince stands up for his violent kidnappers? They’d just lock me up, too. Maybe I can offer them a smile before the executioner slams down the blade. Better than doing nothing, right?”

By the end of his tirade he’s panting, unsure whether to laugh or cry at Yamaguchi’s face. Emotions are flying across it almost too fast to process before settling on anger.

“You’re so full of shit, Tsukki.” Yamaguchi throws up his hands. “Would you stick by something, for once in your life? ‘Send them a letter’, are you kidding me? If the people you love are in danger, you do everything you can to help. If you want to sit on your illusion of a throne and watch the life of good people be taken away because of what you did, then do it. But don’t say it isn’t fair and your hands are tied.” His eyes are burning and he practically spits his next words. “You want something? Fucking fight for it!”

Tsukishima’s vision blurs. He’s so tired. He’s fought against everyone in this castle his entire life. He fought to leave it. He fought when he was taken hostage by a smuggling gang, when he was left to his own devices in enemy territory, when he was faced with feelings he couldn’t understand. 

And all of it will have been for nothing if he stops fighting now.

He closes his eyes, breathes, and opens them again with renewed resolve. “You’re right.”

“I’m— I am?”

Tsukishima pauses, thinking. 

Akaashi trains diligently every single day to be able to protect his loved ones. Bokuto, despite his permanent injuries, keeps a smile on his face and works harder than anyone he’s ever met. Kuroo left his entire world behind rather than compromising on his ideals—choosing to live on his own terms no matter what.

They took him in despite the risk to themselves to offer him a chance at a life with a purpose. 

His heart shatters at the very thought of them being hurt. And he thinks he can finally understand why they do what they do for each other. “I need to do something. It can’t end like this, I won't let it.”

Yamaguchi grins. 

Tsukishima is letting a plan form in his mind, the weight of everything he needs to do sinking in. “You don’t have to be a part of this; I’m going to have to ask you for a lot.”

“I’m with you, Tsukki, you know that.”

Tsukishima nods, relieved. Having Yamaguchi at his side will take some pressure off. “You said Yachi was leaving soon, right?”

“Yeah, any day now. She’s even packed most of her things.”

“Do you think she could leave a little earlier? Say, tonight?”

Yamaguchi eyes him carefully. “Tsukki,” he says, slow, “what are you planning?”

“I have an idea.” He grimaces. “If it works, and we’re fast enough, we can save everyone. We’ll need to sneak out of here, and” —his lips form a thin line for a moment— “I don’t think we’ll ever be able to come back.”

“Oh.”

“You can still back out.”

Yamaguchi shakes his head, finding his smile once again. “I’m ready when you are, Tsukki.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two more chapters and an epilogue coming soon~


	10. Selling Water to a Drowning Man

The day Tsukki left, something shifted. 

Kuroo remembers standing between Akaashi and Bokuto on that deserted street, watching Tsukki walk out of their lives. Kuroo kept his eyes fixed on the ground, not wanting to see him turn the corner and disappear; he didn’t have it in him to watch him leave for good.

He knows Akaashi did. He could see him from the corner of his vision; his head held high and his face blank.

Bokuto felt miles away, staring in Tsukki’s direction, eyes glassy. 

They went home soon afterwards. 

It’s been two weeks. Their life is mostly the same as before, just a bit off kilter. As if an important weight has been removed, leaving everything tilted, off balance. 

None of them seem to want to talk about it, though. No one ever brings it up; they all act like nothing is wrong. They keep busy, falling into old routines. Mostly, though, they work.

They rob an art gallery. They rob the Kuroos (again). And now they’re robbing a bank **.**

They’re a few streets from their target; Bokuto is bouncing on his heels, shaking off nervous energy next to Akaashi, who's stashing a dagger in his boot. Kuroo readjusts his suit with an annoyed sigh. He’s always hated dressing rich, but it’s necessary for this job. 

The plan goes like this: Akaashi and Bokuto go in through a window at the back of the building, then sneak to where they keep the safes in the basement, taking out any guards along the way. Kuroo’s job is to occupy the teller to stop them from going down there themselves and raising any alarms. It’s simple. A little too simple, Kuroo has to admit. He’s barely done any research; they don’t know the amount of guards, the level of security around the safes, or if any other employees have reason to be down there. They don’t even have an escape route beyond “get out as fast as possible”.

Bokuto and Akaashi split off from him when they reach the bank, and Kuroo walks inside wearing his most confident smirk. 

The bank is typical enough; glossy tile floors, large windows, and stone columns encircling the desk in the center, where a tired looking woman is in the midst of helping a customer. There are two guards standing behind her. One is lost in thought staring at the ceiling while the other is lazily twirling his baton. The entire bank has an oppressive air of boredom to it, like even the building itself doesn’t want to be there. 

The person in front of him leaves, and Kuroo walks up to the counter. 

“Good evening, miss,” he greets pleasantly. “I’d like to open an account.”

The clerk pulls out a pen and a large log book that opens against the desk with a hollow sound. “Do you have some identification?”

“Of course,” lies Kuroo. “But you won’t need it.”

The clerk blinks up at him, confused. “I’m sorry?”

“Well, you see, the account isn’t for me, it’s for my brother.”

Behind him, he hears the bank door opening.

“In that case, I need both his and yours, sir.”

Kuroo hides a pleased smile behind his best sheepish face. He’s figured out the perfect way to stall her: a difficult customer. “Last time I did this, you didn’t ask for any documents.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” she repeats, “we’ve required identification for decades.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He hears the next customer line up behind him, and spares them a brief glance. He spots an expensive looking dress and a heavy purse. Not a threat, then, just a regular client. He turns his attention back to the desk. “Can you make an exception, just this once?”

The teller purses her lips, clearly getting annoyed. “No, sir, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

Kuroo frowns. “My brother lives so far away, I’d hate to have to go all the way there just for some formality.”

Her tone is the epitome of politeness when she says, “Then maybe it would be preferable for you to visit a bank near him. Sir.”

“Are you telling me to take my business elsewhere?” he exclaims in mock outrage. 

The argument continues like this for a while, Kuroo strangely amused by his role. He does feel bad for the teller, though, who is looking more and more exasperated as the conversation goes on. It’s a couple minutes later that things go south.

“I am simply trying to find the best way to serve your requests,” the clerk is saying for what must be the tenth time.

“The best way to do that would be to open an account for me!” 

“Sir, you must understand,” the teller is saying, “this is a safety procedure I can’t ignore.”

“Safety!” Kuroo scoffs. “There’s no danger here. I am not trying to defraud you, I just want to open an account—”

“Excuse me,” interrupts the person behind him, “but could you move this pointless argument along? Some of us have more important places to be.”

Kuroo freezes, breath sticking in his throat. He knows that voice. It’s— 

“Right, of course,” says the teller, looking over his shoulder. “It will be just a moment, Lady Kuroo.”

—his aunt. Fuck.

Kuroo swallows, forcing himself to relax. 

“I understand, sir,” the teller says to him, oblivious to his newfound panic, “but the order doesn’t come from me. There’s nothing I can do.”

Kuroo takes a deep breath, hoping it comes off as annoyed instead of nervous. He needs to stay calm and keep talking. As long as he doesn’t turn around, she won’t see his face and he won’t be recognized. It’s going to be fine. Pushing down the fear, he gets back into character and makes a sweeping gesture. “I don’t see your boss anywhere.”

“It’s not from her, either, sir. The crown has been very insistent that we tighten our security protocols.” She pauses to give him a meaningful look. “Because of the manhunt.”

Kuroo shoots a look at the guards behind her, unnecessarily—they look as bored as they were when he first came in. He stops a hysterical laugh with another indignant scoff. “That’s preposterous! How is not helping me open an account going to catch the prince’s kidnappers?!”

“Orders are orders, sir.”

“You just do everything your boss tells you to?” He’s distantly aware that he’s shouting now, but he can’t help it. All the fear he’s feeling is being funneled into this fake anger he’s building up.

His aunt sighs in irritation, loud and impossible to ignore. It’s already a miracle she hasn’t recognized his voice; he isn’t sure how long he can keep this up. Kuroo grinds his teeth and keeps going. “What if she told you to jump off a building?” 

“Sir, it’s not—”

Another sigh behind him, even louder this time. Closer. 

His heart is beating too fast and his hands are shaking ever so slightly. Maybe they’ll mistake it for rage. “Would you just follow orders then? Just hop right off, because the boss said so?”

“Oh, enough!” snaps his aunt. She steps forward and her long manicured nails curl around Kuroo’s shoulder, forcing him to turn around.

Then Kuroo is facing his aunt, his family, for the first time in seven years. And for less than a second, everything stops. Kuroo’s heart ceases to beat, no air enters his lungs, no thoughts come to his mind. She stands there before him, heavy dark makeup and styled black hair, a severe expression on her face. 

Kuroo knows this expression well. He’s seen it many times throughout his life; when he skipped out on his lessons, when he came home with dirty clothes. When he refused to get married. And now she’s doing it again, right before she reveals who he is, and ruins his life. Except— 

“Have you no respect?” she scolds. “You, sir, are wasting my precious time. I came here for important business and I won’t let an idiotic baffoon such as yourself delay me any longer!”

Kuroo can only stare at her in shock. He opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again, at a complete loss for words. He would recognize his aunt’s face anywhere. She helped raise him, lived in the same house, saw him every single day for almost two decades. And she has no idea who he is. 

She’s looking at him dead in the eye, and all he can see there is annoyance at an irritating customer. Nothing more. 

Kuroo knows that he can’t just stay silent, but what does he say?

He doesn’t get to say anything at all, in the end.

Before he can return to his fake persona, a guard shouts from the back rooms, his cry resonating throughout the entire bank. “I need some backup down here!”

Everyone’s attention turns to the source of the noise, and not half a minute later come out Akaashi and Bokuto, followed by far too many guards. Akaashi slips when they reach the counter and while helping him keep his balance, Bokuto spots Kuroo, eyes wide and panicked. 

“RUN!”

********

Akaashi waits for Kuroo to walk through the main door before heading to their point of entry, Bokuto at his side. Getting inside the bank is almost too easy; the window isn’t even closed. To get to the basement, all Akaashi and Bokuto need to do is follow an empty maintenance corridor to the staircase.

They hurry down the stairs and into the hallway leading to the safes. Weak oil lamps line its stone walls, and the corridor is long enough that Akaashi can just make out the treasure room at the end. 

There’s a brief moment of silence when they reach the bottom of the stairs, where the guards stare at them in confusion. Akaashi counts four of them, each armed with batons. He numbers them in his mind, quick to evaluate which to take out first, then throws the smoke grenade. Bokuto bolts.

The guards’ panicked shouts resonate throughout the hall as Bokuto blindly pushes past them.

Akaashi waits an extra second for the smoke to start dissipating. The guards are coughing, taking out their weapons, and Akaashi eyes their positions carefully. 

As he steps forward to take out the first one, it occurs to him that he isn't thinking clearly, not like he usually does on the job. He knows the face he’s wearing right now, because he often fights people feeling this same sort of irrational anger. 

But he has to stay angry, because if he stops, all that’ll be left will be heartbreak. He can’t let that happen. He needs to be strong, solid enough that Kuroo and Bokuto have something to lean on.

So he approaches Guard One from behind, teeth clamped shut and blood roaring, and taps him on the shoulder. Guard One lets out a confused “Huh?” as he turns around; Akaashi swings his right arm and punches him in the stomach. He doubles over with a muffled cry. Akaashi uses the same fist to land an uppercut under his jaw, then the left for another blow to the side of his face. One falls to the ground, knocked out cold.

Akaashi turns his head to see that the other guards are now fully aware of what’s happening. Two and Three are facing him, their batons raised. Four is heading in the opposite direction—towards Bokuto. 

Akaashi curses, biting his lip to stop himself from shouting in warning and alerting the rest of the bank to their presence. He unsheathes his dagger, sprinting after him, a familiar copper taste spreading on his lips. His mouth always tastes faintly of blood these days; he spends too much time biting his own tongue, swallowing down every violent thought he has, and every apology that comes with it. 

Two and Three move to stop him, but Akaashi simply ducks beneath their weapons, practically skidding along the floor in his hurry. He stumbles back upright and continues his run. He knows they aren’t far behind but he barely spares them a thought, entirely focused on Four, the man intending to harm Bokuto. 

Akaashi grabs Four by the collar, yanking him backwards. He raises his knife. His only intent is to disarm him, but Four shouts in terror. He cowers and Akaashi begins his slash downwards only to be stopped by Three hitting his wrist with his baton, causing Akaashi to drop his blade in response to the sharp pain. 

Annoyed, he waits for Three to raise his baton again, and ducks beneath it as it slams down. The momentum of his swing hitting empty air is strong enough to stagger him. Akaashi is quick to straighten himself again, hitting his elbow against the hunched over guard’s neck, knocking him to the ground. 

There isn’t time to catch his breath before an arm encircles his neck, pulling him back with enough force to choke him. He struggles blindly for a second, trying to get out of Four’s hold as Two moves to strikes at his front. 

He reacts on instinct; he kicks as hard as he can, knocking Two away from him and into the opposing wall. The arm around Akaashi’s throat squeezes tighter and he lets out a choked weeze, moving to try and release himself from Four’s grip, to no avail.

Akaashi curses internally, more frustrated than afraid when his lungs begin to seize. Struggling all the way, he starts to rapidly walk backwards, forcing the guard to do the same lest he fall over. A few steps brings them close enough to the wall for Akaashi to push himself backwards, putting as much force into the motion as he can. The back of Four’s head thuds against the hard surface and he falls limp.

Struggling to get his breath under control, Akaashi steps forward. There’s only one guard left: Two, who’s standing up from where he was kicked down, baton at the ready.

Akaashi doesn’t hesitate when he takes his own fighting stance, more than ready to finish this. The guard swings his baton at Akaashi’s head, who dodges with a small step backwards. The guard aims for him again on the counter-swing, forcing Akaashi to step back once more. The guard’s clumsy attempts at hitting him remind him of his time training Tsukki—he’d been so annoyed when he couldn’t land a hit on Akaashi. The thought has Akaashi briefly glancing at Bokuto, still hard at work on the safes, and the remorse he’s grown used to ignoring resurfaces. He isn’t an idiot. He knows that they blame him for Tsukki leaving. 

And two weeks ago, he would’ve insisted that he didn’t regret it. That Tsukki needed his family more than them, that the castle might be boring to him, but that it would keep him safer than they ever could. That letting him go was the right thing to do. But now...

Akaashi waits for the next baton hit to miss before reaching for it, gripping it with a firm hand. Two grunts and pulls it back. They remain stuck in a short tug of war before Akaashi lets go just enough for Two to pull too hard. Losing his balance, Two begins to fall backwards, reaching for the only thing around to hold onto: Akaashi himself. They tumble to the ground.

They struggle on the floor for a moment, each trying to get the upper hand. 

Akaashi rolls away from a punch and thinks of Kuroo, who stays up until dawn every day, making half delirious plans and only sleeping when he collapses on his desk.

He dodges another hit and thinks of Bokuto, who comes back from his meetings with new bruises and strange news from his contacts.

He fights back against the guard’s attempts at holding him down, and thinks about how he doesn’t really open his mouth anymore. Not to eat, not to speak, not to smile.

Two lands a knee in Akaashi’s stomach, and pins him to the ground.

His baton rolled away at some point during their scuffle, and it’s his closed fist that collides with Akaashi’s jaw. He blinks away the pain with a hiss, and takes two more blows to the face in quick succession. Akaashi wants to believe that they’ll get through this and move on some day. His vision swims; his teeth ache.

Two pauses, shaking his punching hand with a pained grimace, and Akaashi uses those few seconds to reach for his second dagger tucked in his boot. 

The guard looks down at him again, and Akaashi can’t help himself. He smiles, feeling once again the coppery taste of blood on his teeth. Two grunts. “What’s so funny?”

In lieu of answering, Akaashi plunges the dagger into Two’s shin, causing him to scream in pain. He falls away from Akaashi’s chest, who gets to his feet in one smooth motion. Akaashi reaches down for Two’s dropped baton and shoots him a disinterested look before swinging it against his skull. Two falls unconscious. 

“Holy fuck, Akaashi.”

He turns to see Bokuto looking at the four knocked out guards with wide eyes. 

Akaashi gives him a nonchalant shrug before leaning down to pull the knife out of the guard’s shin, wiping the blood against his pant leg. 

Bokuto shakes himself out of his shock and starts to gather the contents of the two safes he’s managed to open into bags when, at the other end of the hallway, a guard arrives at the bottom of the stairs. 

He stares at them for half a second, then turns around and runs back upstairs, calling for backup. 

Akaashi lets his head fall back with a deep sigh. So much for a discreet exit.

Behind him Bokuto is finished packing up the second satchel and throws it at Akaashi, who hooks it over his shoulder. They hurry up to the ground floor, heavy bags not enough to slow them down through the adrenaline rush. 

They turn to the window they’d first entered from, only to be met with five more guards. Too many for them to fight.

Akaashi takes a careful step back along with Bokuto, who asks “Front door?”

Akaashi nods once, slow. 

Then they’re off, sprinting back to the bank’s lobby, the squad of guards hot on their heels. They reach it in a dead sprint. Akaashi skids on the polished tiles, but Bokuto is quick to pull him back up by the shoulder. 

Over his head, Akaashi hears Bokuto scream “RUN!”, then sees a flash of black hair flee out the door. They reach it before it has time to close behind Kuroo, and all three split up, running in random patterns through the busy streets. 

It doesn’t take Akaashi very long to lose his pursuers. After a couple more minutes of running, he pauses between two buildings to catch his breath. His eyes close of their own accord.

Normally, at this stage of a job, he’d be thinking about the others, worrying if they made it out okay. Maybe he’d be checking himself for injuries, or counting his loot. As it is, his head is blissfully empty of anything but his own heartbeat. 

He takes a deep breath and starts walking, hoping the numbness stays at least until he makes it home.

****

By the time he finally gets home, Bokuto is exhausted. The adrenaline crash is an old friend, familiar to him from his fighting days. His muscles are shaking as he collapses into a chair across from Kuroo, who’s already at the table. He’s staring intently at his hands with a frown on his face. 

Bokuto eyes him warily, but Kuroo doesn’t even notice.

When Akaashi finally arrives home, bruised and panting from the run, Bokuto’s leg is bouncing.

Akaashi walks over to them and puts a hand in Bokuto’s hair, dumping his own bag onto the floor. Bokuto leans into the touch despite himself. 

“What did we get?” Akaashi asks. 

Bokuto reaches between his feet to grab the burlap sack he left there when he sat down. He upends the bag onto the table, not caring about the harsh clanging of the valuables falling, some rolling onto the floor. 

Kuroo jumps at the sound, looking up in surprise, as if he only just realized that they were there. Akaashi ignores the loot in favour of frowning at Kuroo’s behaviour. 

“Who was that you were talking to, Kuroo?” Akaashi asks. 

“That was Lady Kuroo. His aunt.” Bokuto answers for him flatly. He recognized her as he ran past.

Akaashi’s eyes widen and he looks to Kuroo in alarm. “Did she recognize you?”

Kuroo finally meets their gazes. “No.” He frowns. “Not even a little.” Bokuto’s heart breaks at Kuroo’s tone—a confused bitterness. 

“Oh,” Akaashi says. 

“‘Kaashi, are you okay?” Bokuto asks. Akaashi sighs and slumps into the chair next to him. 

“I’ll have a few bruises, but nothing I can’t handle.”

Bokuto relaxes for the first time since the heist started. They’re alright, despite their risky behaviour. 

“You took out all those guards with hardly a scratch? Damn, Akaashi.” Kuroo whistles, coming back to himself to look impressed. 

Akaashi gives him a tired smile. “I had to keep Bokuto safe.”

Bokuto tenses up again at the words. Neither of them seem to notice, both clearly exhausted in their own right, but he needs to say something. He looks at the table rather than them. “Four guards, and I didn’t even see you fight them. Akaashi”—Bokuto looks up—“why were you so angry?”

Akaashi opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. Bokuto knows the answer, they all know—but Akaashi can’t say it. Kuroo’s eyes are narrowed as he looks between them. 

Bokuto turns to him. “Kuroo, this plan was insane. We agreed, we always agree—but at this rate, one of us is going to get killed. And for what?” Bokuto gestures to the table full of useless jewels and gold. “We don’t need this after—with the ransom money.” He shakes his head. “There has to be a better way to deal with— _ this _ than risking our lives for no reason.”

“With Tsukki leaving,” Kuroo clarifies, voice hard. “We don’t need to pretend that it never happened.”

Akaashi leans back, his eyebrows raised, and doesn’t say anything. Bokuto blinks. 

“Right…” Bokuto looks to Akaashi, but he isn’t any help. “Anyway, it’s not like he’s dead.”

Kuroo scowls. “He might as well be.” At Bokuto’s confusion, he rolls his eyes. “Bo, you can’t seriously believe we’re ever going to see him again. Not in any way that matters.”

Bokuto winces. “I mean, it could happen—” 

“Bo…” Akaashi says, pityingly. Bokuto bites the inside of his cheek. 

“It won’t happen, and acting like it will is only delaying the inevitable heartbreak,” Kuroo snaps. Bokuto flinches. Maybe he should be offended, but it’s hard when he knows how upset Kuroo is. 

He sighs. “I know, okay? I’m not  _ that _ stupid. But you two are clearly upset and you both refuse to do anything about it! What am I supposed to do? Sit here and watch you guys self-destruct? I’m trying to remain positive. Fuck, it isn’t impossible; we could go and get him—”

“Bo,” Akaashi says, in warning this time. 

Bokuto feels a spike of annoyance. “Akaashi, not now, okay? We could get him  _ back _ and then we wouldn’t have to be so  _ sad _ anymore—”

“No, we  _ can't _ , we are leaving the prince  _ alone.”  _ Akaashi never yells and now is no exception. His quiet intensity is enough to take Bokuto off guard regardless. 

“Say his  _ name, _ Akaashi,” Kuroo goads, leaning forward toward him with a mirthless smile.

Akaashi glares at him, his arms crossed. “He was never going to stay. We shouldn’t have gotten so attached; this is our fault.”

Bokuto looks at him in astonishment. “How could we not get attached?”

“You still haven’t said it, Akaashi.  _ Tsukki _ ,” Kuroo repeats, eyes flashing. 

Akaashi slams a hand into the table, his expression fierce. “Why? Would it make you happy, Kuroo?”

“We can’t just pretend he never existed. Do you think they talk about me at home? Do you think, if I went up to my aunt and said, “I'm Tetsurou,” she would have recognized me?  _ Do they say my name? _ ” Kuroo leans back in his chair, mimicking Akaashi’s crossed arms. “We’re not forgetting Tsukki just because it’s easier.”

Bokuto can’t help it—he makes a face. 

Kuroo’s gaze shoots from Akaashi to him. “What?”

“It’s nothing!” Bokuto says, hoping Kuroo will drop it. 

No such luck. Kuroo gives him a look. “Bo.”

“I don’t think that it’s a bad thing that your family forgot you!” Bokuto exclaims, then covers his mouth with his hand. 

Kuroo blinks, taken aback. He doesn’t seem offended yet, but Bokuto rushes to explain himself anyway.

“They don't deserve you. You’re one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met and if they aren’t going to appreciate you for you, then they don’t get to have you. We should follow their example and forget about  _ them _ . They aren’t worth our time or our thoughts.” Bokuto finishes, out of breath. He hopes he didn’t overstep—Kuroo’s always been so tightlipped about his family; Bokuto and Akaashi never know where the line is. 

Kuroo listens to him with wide eyes, expression unreadable. Then he reaches over the table to grab Bokuto’s hand and squeeze it gently, offering him a soft smile. His anger has dissipated some, and now he just seems tired. “Thanks, Bo.”

Akaashi looks on with his own inexplicable look. “I’m glad you aren’t with them anymore, Kuroo.”

Bokuto and Kuroo’s heads swivel towards Akaashi in unison. 

“What,” Akaashi asks defensively. 

“Babe, do you not realize that we literally  _ just _ sent Tsukki back to his own shitty family because of you?” Bokuto doesn’t want to be mean, he really doesn’t, but he’s getting fed up. 

Akaashi frowns. “That was different.”

Kuroo raises an eyebrow. “Was it?

“Yes,” Akaashi insists.

“ _ Was it? _ ”

“ _ Yes,”  _ Akaashi bites out. “It  _ is.” _

Kuroo harrumphs, but doesn’t say anything else. Akaashi rubs his eyes, frustrated. 

Neither of them seem like they’re going to speak up again, and the tension in the room thickens. Bokuto squints and waits, hoping someone else will break the silence. 

Unfortunately, barely any time at all passes before Bokuto starts getting antsy. He opens his mouth to speak, planning to say something to deescalate the situation—Kuroo and Akaashi are clearly annoyed with each other and as much as Bokuto wants Tsukki back, he’d rather not fight with them. 

What comes out instead is, “We should have asked Tsukki to stay.” Oops.

He’s been thinking it since he watched Tsukki walk away; nothing in his life has ever felt more  _ wrong _ than letting him go without a word. 

“We did the right thing,” Akaashi says, but he doesn’t sound as confident as he used to. 

“He would have said yes.” Kuroo runs a hand through his messy hair, his voice more sad than angry. “If we’d asked.”

“That’s why we couldn’t ask,” Akaashi insists, his fire coming back. 

“Akaashi—” Bokuto starts, but is interrupted. 

“What could we offer him? It’s bad enough with him gone now, but what if he decided that giving up his life as a prince to be a petty thief wasn’t worth it and he left  _ anyways _ ? How would we recover from that?" 

“He’s fucking miserable as a prince,” Kuroo argues. 

“If he’d stayed with us, he’d be on the run for the rest of his life. What kind of existence is that? He has a chance to be  _ safe _ . We can’t take that from him.” 

“Akaashi,” Kuroo asks, his brow furrowed in concern. “Are you unhappy?”

Akaashi looks startled at the question. He shakes his head. “Not in the slightest. But I grew up in this world—and he would have to worry about being recognized by everyone, all the time. If he was caught…. Tendou was bad enough. If we were caught harboring the prince, we’d be  _ executed _ . It isn’t worth the risk.” Bokuto translates that in his head:  _ Tsukki _ isn’t worth the risk. 

“Did you even like him?” Bokuto asks. He doesn’t say it with any judgement, only curiosity. Bokuto thought he did, thought they were all on the same page, but it’s possible Akaashi doesn’t feel the same as him and Kuroo. 

At the question, Akaashi deflates, settling back into his chair. He rubs a hand over his face, suddenly exhausted. “Yeah. Too much.”

Kuroo sighs. “Akaashi, you can’t protect us like this. Risk is part of life.”

Akaashi scowls. “I know that.”

“Tsukki knows what he’d be signing up for.”

Akaashi puts his head in his hands and breaths in shakily. Bokuto starts toward him, but hesitates before touching him. 

“I just don’t want him to get hurt. I don't want him to hurt  _ us _ .” 

Bokuto can barely hear the words. He puts his arm on Akaashi’s back and Akaashi immediately leans towards him. He rubs soothing circles and Akaashi takes another deep breath. 

Bokuto meets Kuroo’s eyes across the table—they never know what to do when Akaashi gets upset like this. It happens so rarely. 

What now? Do they go and ‘kidnap’ Tsukki from the castle, again? It’ll be a lot harder this time; a lot riskier. There’s no way they haven’t increased security to a maximum. Bokuto realizes he doesn’t care.

In the silence of Akaashi’s last statement, they all hear it clear as day:

A knock at their door. 

None of them move at first, glancing at each other in trepidation. It could be one of their friends, dropping by for an unexpected visit… but they’ve made too many enemies to assume. 

They approach the door carefully, all three of them—Akaashi pulling a knife seemingly out of nowhere. 

Kuroo reaches a hand out to grab the handle and pauses. Bokuto and Akaashi nod, ready to face whoever’s on the other side. 

He swings it open. Akaashi’s knife hits the floor. 

“Tsukki?”


	11. To Fall in Love and Fall in Debt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapter title is from jesus of suburbia by green day because we're pop punk trash and we hate this town

Tsukishima has a plan. 

It’s nothing fancy—not at all like the at times convoluted yet still clever heists that he watched Kuroo come up with. 

He and Yamaguchi will leave the castle. Yamaguchi will go get Yachi and her friend Kiyoko, while Tsukishima goes to the thieves. If everyone agrees to the plan, everything will be fine. 

Simple enough, but not easy. Tsukishima doesn’t know how they’ll react to him, if they’ll want to see him at all, let alone be willing to follow him on this crazy stunt. He doesn’t know if this’ll work, or if they’ll be able to leave immediately like they need to. 

And he doesn’t know how he’s going to get out of the castle. 

Yamaguchi shouldn’t have any problems; that’s why he sent him on ahead, despite his protests. No one will notice a stableboy sneaking out. The recently kidnapped prince, however, is another story. He’s too recognizable. 

He  _ may  _ have overstated his claims of having a plan. He paces his room back and forth, thinking it over. How does he get to the thieves without bringing a brigade of palace guards down on them?

Even with the extra security, he could probably sneak out. He knows this castle like the back of his hand after wandering it for the last twenty-three years of his life. That advantage goes away when considering the fact that the guards are just as knowledgeable about the castle’s layout, though. He can’t be caught right now, there isn't enough time. 

He stops pacing. The reminder of what’s at stake—Kuroo, Bokuto and Akaashi are going to be arrested and executed because of  _ him _ —causes a panic to bubble in his chest. He takes a deep breath before it can overwhelm him. He has to  _ think. _

He changes into his plainest outfit, still adorned with elegant stitching around the collar. He starts to tie hair back, his mind racing.

Any way he makes it out of here, he’ll always be the golden haired prince, as recognizable as the sun. No matter how far he runs. His resolve starts to buckle under the weight of his situation, his hair falling around him as he abandons his attempts at tying it with shaking hands. 

He’s just a spoiled royal brat; he can't  _ save them _ , he can’t do anything. But he can’t just give up either. 

Yamaguchi’s words come back to him, yelling at him to fight for something. And he knows what he has to do. 

He moves quickly, going to where he stashed a knife in one of the decorative pots scattered around his room; he picked the habit up from Akaashi. 

He doesn’t bother with a mirror. He gathers a chunk of his hair in his hand—as long and blond as ever.

He pulls it taut and drags the dagger across it, cutting it as short as he can. The blade is sharp; the clump of hair is in his palm, pieces of it flying to the floor. He stares at them blankly. 

He needs to hurry, needs to get the rest of his head, but the sight of his hair, the symbol of his wealth and status as a Prince, cut as if it was nothing, twists something in his chest.

He shakes himself; he doesn’t have time for this. He can have a crisis about this later. 

After a brief moment of confusion where he’s not sure what to do with the hair in his hand—if he leaves it on his floor, it will be obvious what he’s done—he throws the locks out his window. He’s several floors up and the night is windy; the strands quickly separate and drift apart, dissolving into the night. 

The rest of his head takes only a minute to hack off. He’s going to look terrible, but it’s the least of his concerns right now. Every chunk cut off is another weight off his chest. 

When he’s done, he’s shocked at how light he feels. He shivers, unused to the back of his neck being exposed like this. It’s weird, but… good. 

And that’s all the time Tsukishima gives himself before he remembers his mission and bolts out the door. 

****

Tsukishima runs. He’s taken too long already.

The fancy tapestries and overly decorated parlors fly by as he sprints down the halls and to the ground floor. There is his easiest way out: the staff entrance.

Getting there takes an eternity. It’s strange; the castle has always felt too small, stifling. But now that he's trying to leave, it seems to stretch on forever, the corridors a maze of infinitely repeating rooms and expensive decor. 

When he finally reaches the bottom of the final staircase, he finds himself barely winded. Whether it’s because of the adrenaline or his weeks of training he isn’t sure, but considering the long run ahead of him, he’s grateful. He speeds up, his cloak floating behind him, before arriving at a splitting hallway. To the left is the kitchens. It’s a long way to the outdoors but it’s definitely safer than the right, which is shorter but takes him through the guard’s quarters. He pauses for a second, thinking.

Fuck it.

He turns right. The way is surprisingly deserted, though Tsukishima can hear guards chattering through closed doors. He hurries his steps, careful not to make too much noise. 

He’s almost reached the exit when a door opening a few feet ahead of him makes him stop in his tracks. Fortunately, no one steps out, and it remains hanging ajar. Through the gap Tsukishima can hear a guard speak. “Thanks, it’s so hot in here. These fucking uniforms don’t help.”

Tsukishima sticks himself to the wall, holding his breath and praying they don’t notice the shadow he casts along the floor.

Another guard answers the first with a groan. “Who’s idea was it to make the insides of these things out of wool? I’ve spent all summer steaming like a fish.”

“And they’re making us walk all the way to the Eastern district. I’m gonna be drowning in my own sweat by the time we get there.”

Tsukishima sucks in a sharp breath. That’s where the house is. So much for the mild hope that Tendou gave false information.

“Quit your whining,” snaps a third guard. “You’ll be glad you have all that extra padding. Things could get messy.”

The other two laugh at that. “You can’t be serious. They’re sending fifty of us to take out three guys! Might as well send a hurricane after a squirrel.”

Tsukishima’s heard enough. He spins on his heels and runs the way he came, intending to go through the kitchens instead. There’s no way he can walk past that open door unnoticed, and he doesn’t have time to wait and hope they close it again. The situation’s urgency just increased tenfold; fifty guards? Is his father insane? With this much force he’s at risk of killing them.

Which is exactly the point. 

He speeds up, giving up any pretenses of being quiet. He needs to get to them  _ now _ .

His rushed footsteps echo throughout the hall, loud enough that he doesn’t hear another door open behind him. 

“You there!” cries out a guard. 

Tsukishima freezes with a wince. Busted.

“What are you doing down here? This area is off limits.”

Tsukishima is thinking of an excuse that would explain the prince’s presence all the way down in these quarters as he turns around. He could always just order him to leave him alone, right? It’s never really worked all that well in the past, and especially not with the current circumstances, but he has to try. Tsukishima faces him with a stern expression.

The guard steps closer, a severe frown on his face. “Who are you?” 

Tsukishima’s hand automatically goes up to his freshly cut hair, feeling its short tips beneath his fingers. He’s never had someone in the castle not recognize him immediately. The thought would make him smile if the guard wasn’t coming even closer, now more threatening than curious.

“I asked you a question.”

Thankfully, the guard is unarmed, but that doesn’t make it any less terrifying when he reaches for Tsukishima’s arm. He takes a swift step back, and thinks. 

Kuroo’s taught him how to talk himself out of any sticky situation, yet he doesn’t believe anything he could say here would help. He’s dealt with enough of his father’s militia to know that they tend to be an “ask questions later” type of crowd. 

He’s no fighter, either. Akaashi may have shown him how to throw a punch, but his opponent is definitely much more skilled at this than he is, and he doubts he could land a hit that could do any damage.

So Tsukishima focuses on the things he’s learnt from Bokuto who, because of his injuries, can’t ever afford to get hit.  _ You put all your attention on what your opponent is doing _ , Tsukishima remembers him saying.  _ Really watch, try to predict where they’re going to be next. Concentrate on avoiding all their attacks, let them tire themselves out. Then you can take them out. And if your timing is just right _ —Bokuto grinned— _ you’ll only need to hit them once to do it. _

The guard makes to grab him, but Tsukishima simply backs away again. He goes for another punch, and Tsukishima blocks it with his forearm, too on edge to feel more than a dull ache at the impact. Then he dodges a hit to his ribs. Then another. Then ducks under a punch aimed at his jaw. 

Step left, move right, duck, step right, then left again. His cloak is swishing with every movement, and Tsukishima finds himself grinning, the thrill of each avoided hit thrumming through his veins. The guard is panting. With a grunt, he throws a right hook, putting most of his weight into it.

_ Now _ , Tsukishima thinks. Instead of dodging the hit, he moves into it, wrapping his hands around the guard’s fist before stepping to the side, violently twisting his wrist. The guard yelps as he falls to the ground on his back, and Tsukishima doesn’t hesitate. He kicks the guard’s temple and he goes out like a light.

Tsukishima lets out a shaky breath through a pleased smirk, and before he can do anything else, he hears another guard behind one of the doors. “Did you hear that?”

Tsukishima curses under his breath and begins running again; he doesn’t have the time for anyone else to get in his way. Going through the kitchens is easy; the few staff members still around are too indifferent to bother asking him any questions. 

Once outside, his mind empties of everything but finding the shortest path to the house. He goes through the courtyard, out a carriage gate and into the sparsely occupied evening streets. The sun is quickly setting behind him, the elongating shadows a constant reminder of the time splitting away from him. From alleyways to main streets and through empty squares, Tsukishima runs.  _ Faster _ , is all he can think.  _ Faster, faster, faster… _

It’s blue hour when he reaches the door. He’s out of breath, his heart is in his throat, his vision is foggy around the edges, but he barely takes a moment for himself. He knocks.

The door opens and Tsukishima feels his world screech to a halt.

Kuroo is closest, his hair messier than ever and his eyes darkened with fatigue. Bokuto is behind him, staring unblinking, his face dirty and etched with disbelief. By his side is Akaashi, completely frozen, with a knife held tight in his paralyzed hand, bruises on his cheeks and blood on his lip. 

They’re a wreck, but they’re alive, and Tsukishima could cry with relief. 

The knife hits the floor and all of Tsukishima’s thoughts return to him with the force of a lightning strike.  _ You’re beautiful, I missed you, I love you, I’m in love with you—  _

"Tsukki?"

_ —and I never should’ve come here. _

Tsukishima takes a step back, mouth suddenly dry. He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking. I mean, I do. But I shouldn’t— Me being here is very risky, it could make everything so much worse. I should've sent someone else, I— You’re in danger, they’re sending—” He stutters under their intense gazes. This isn’t like him; he doesn’t hesitate, he doesn’t babble, but none of them have moved at all since the door opened and his conviction is crumbling. 

This was a mistake. He’s the  _ prince _ . He almost killed them by coming here in the first place and he thinks he’s going to save them by coming  _ back _ ?! 

They stare and Tsukishima’s hands begin to shake. He opens his mouth to speak again and his breath hitches. “I—I—just needed to see you, to tell you, I—”

Arms wrap around Tsukishima and he cuts himself off with a choked sob, falling backwards a step at the force of the hug. After a moment, he hesitantly snakes his arms around Bokuto’s torso as relief floods through him.

Bokuto lets him go and steps back, bouncing on the balls of his feet. There’s nothing but happiness on his face; it’s impossible to hold onto any worries looking at him. 

Then Kuroo clears his throat and draws Tsukishima’s attention, allowing the anxiety to seep back in. Kuroo’s expression is wary—but Tsukishima detects a hint of hope, underneath. 

“What happened to your hair, princess?” Kuroo asks, tilting his head as he looks at him. 

Tsukishima touches his hair self-consciously. “I needed to make myself unrecognizable,” he explains. Kuroo grins, finally, and Tsukishima softens. 

“It looks really good, Tsukki!” Bokuto chimes in. “Not that it didn’t look good before, but— woah! I mean, look at you, this—”

Tsukishima tries to listen to Bokuto, he really does—but once his eyes catch on Akaashi, he can’t look away. 

He’s still standing frozen in the same position as when Tsukishima opened the door, staring at him with wide eyes. 

“Akaashi…?” Tsukishima says carefully, cutting off Bokuto’s excited rambling. Does Akaashi not want him here?

At the sound of his name, Akaashi steps forward and before Tsukishima can react, he wraps him in a tight hug. Tsukishima blinks, but quickly returns the hug, settling into Akaashi’s warmth and familiar smell. 

Bokuto and Kuroo have gone silent and Tsukishima closes his eyes, resting his head on Akaashi’s shoulder. 

Akaashi eventually pulls back and Tsukishima mourns the loss of heat. Only for a moment, though, because Akaashi hasn’t stepped back, looking into his eyes. 

Tsukishima’s breath catches in his throat and he can’t help but stare back. Akaashi’s eyes shoot down, looking at his mouth, and that’s all the warning Tsukishima gets before Akaashi is kissing him.

The kiss is brief, a simple brushing of their lips together. Tsukishima’s eyes flutter closed without his permission. Akaashi pulls away and Tsukishima opens his eyes to see a clear question on his face. 

Tsukishima answers him by moving forward and kissing him again. It’s not like before, where he and Kuroo kissed ostensibly for the benefit of the guards. There’s no pretense—Akaashi is kissing him because he wants to. Tsukishima is giddy, weightless, only Akaashi’s hand on the back of his neck keeping him from floating away. He could live in these achingly slow close-mouthed kisses for the rest of his life, getting washed away by the quiet storm.

There’s a featherlight touch on his lower lip and Tsukishima lets Akaashi in easily. And oh,  _ oh,  _ the kisses until now were nothing compared to this. Akaashi explores his mouth thoroughly and Tsukishima melts against him, gripping his shoulder just to stay upright. 

Akaashi kisses like he fights—every move is intentional and fluid. Maybe he’ll be able to teach him this, too. 

Tsukishima doesn’t process how long they’ve been kissing until they’ve stopped. Akaashi pulls back and Tsukishima opens his eyes to see Akaashi offering him a soft smile. Tsukishima returns it, his heart ready to burst out of his chest. 

Then Akaashi is moved away from him. Tsukishima blinks, confused at the sudden change, and Bokuto is in front of him. Akaashi, now standing at his side, is clearly just as startled. 

“Did I do something—” Akaashi starts but is interrupted. 

“No, you did everything right! But now it’s  _ my _ turn.” Bokuto grins, his eyes sparkling, and kisses Tsukishima without waiting for a response. 

Well, he tries to—he’s smiling too big and their teeth clack together. He laughs, his breath on Tsukishima’s face, and tries again, properly this time. 

Tsukishima can still feel a slight upturn to Bokuto’s lips through the kiss and his heart can’t sit still. All he can feel, smell,  _ taste _ is Bokuto, kissing him sweetly. He puts a hand gently on Tsukishima’s shoulder and lets it drift down his arm until it reaches his hand, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Tsukishima’s breath catches as Bokuto entwines their fingers together, all the while kissing him. He squeezes Bokuto’s hand and lets himself be taken in by his contagious glee.

They part with a wet smack and Tsukishima blinks as the world comes back to him—and his worries. Bokuto steps away, but doesn’t let go of his hand, while Kuroo and Akaashi are watching fondly. 

Tsukishima licks his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. “Uh—you guys like me?” He just has to make sure. 

Bokuto laughs, light and airy. “How could we not?”

Tsukishima knocks his shoulder into Bokuto’s, shy. He looks at Kuroo and Akaashi, who are exchanging a glance.

“You aren’t getting rid of us so easily, Princess,” Kuroo says with a sad smile and Tsukishima sees all the pain he felt being apart from them reflected in his face. Tsukishima steps forward on a whim; Bokuto holds fast to his hand when he tugs it gently. He doesn’t mind, surprisingly. Tsukishima wants this. He wants  _ them _ . 

He stands in front of Kuroo, slowly leaning forward to kiss him, Kuroo’s hand coming up to caress his cheek.Their lips move together, burning with affection; it’s a stark contrast from their previous kiss, all teeth and open mouths, but no less intense. Something unfurls inside Tsukishima, leaving him open. It’s not a weight lifted, or a loosening of chains, so much as a  _ settling _ . This is where he belongs—with them.

He clutches at Kuroo’s clothing, keeping him close. They kiss for a long time, always at that achingly slow pace, never speeding up until a low heat has coiled itself in Tsukishima’s stomach. 

They part eventually and Kuroo kisses him once more, quickly, before moving back. Tsukishima lets go of his—lapels?

“Kuroo,” Tsukishima says, taking in his clothing for the first time. “Why are you wearing a suit?”

He looks good; Tsukishima imagines that in any other situation, how good he looks would have been the first thing he noticed. A glance at Bokuto and Akaashi shows that they’re wearing their heist clothing; black and loose fitting for easy movement. 

“About that,” Kuroo says, rubbing the back of his neck. “We robbed a bank.”

Tsukishima starts. “What? When?”

“About thirty minutes ago.”

Tsukishima opens his mouth to speak, hesitating for a moment before giving up and letting out a long sigh. “Of course.”

He takes a closer look at them, eyes lingering on Akaashi’s blossoming injuries as Tsukishima crosses his arms. He’s somewhat bothered by their apparent recklessness, but mostly he’s just glad they managed to escape— His mind stutters. 

Escape. 

“Right. Fuck.” Tsukishima winces, eyes screwed shut. “How did I f— we need to leave.”

Kuroo blinks, startled. “Where?”

“And why?” continues Akaashi, Bokuto nodding behind him.

Tsukishima speaks quickly, mind brought back to the urgency of the situation in a flash. “My father found out where you live. He’s sent fifty of his men to come arrest you.” He frowns, correcting himself. “No, arrest isn’t right. ‘Make an example out of you’ is more like it. I don’t know exactly when they’ll be here, but it should be soon.”

“How soon?” Kuroo asks. “Couple days?”

“Tonight.”

Bokuto’s eyes grow huge. “Tonight?!”

The other two don’t respond; Akaashi is squinting, and Kuroo is making the same face he wears when he gets stuck planning a job. 

“It’s okay,” rushes to reassure Tsukishima. “I got Yamaguchi, a friend, to go to the Karasuno crew. He’s going to give them your names and explain the situation, and hopefully they’ll set up their ship to leave port as soon as possible. I also gave him some gold to compensate them for the last minute voyage.” Tsukishima pauses, suddenly uncertain. “This will work, right?”

Bokuto nods enthusiastically. “Yeah. Daichi owes me one anyway. Great thinking, Tsukki!”

Tsukishima wants to feel relieved at his words, but Kuroo’s thinking face is still well in place. “How long would we be gone?”

“Last time we met up with Sugawara, he told us their next trip would take a couple months,” answers Akaashi. 

“That’s not long enough,” Kuroo says with a frown. 

Tsukishima clicks his tongue. “Why not?”

“You’re missing, princess. Again. If we run now, we’re going to be the most wanted men in the kingdom. And the king won’t give up this time.” Kuroo runs a hand through his hair. “You never even made a public appearance when you were at the castle. People will think the king lied and that you never actually came back. He’s going to be pretty desperate to find you.”

Akaashi nods. “If only to prove that he can.”

“Two months isn’t long enough for a king to forget an affront to his power like this.”

Tsukishima has thought of that, of course. But his plan only covers the here and now; he doesn’t have an idea to remain hidden in the long term. He asks, “Then how long should we stay gone?”

Kuroo smirks. “Forever.”

At that, Bokuto grins wide. He bolts up the stairs; Tsukishima can hear the ruckus of him tearing through his work space. 

Akaashi sighs. “Yeah, we have to vanish.”

He and Kuroo share a look before making their way up the stairs as well, leaving Tsukishima to walk after them. There’s a part of him that’s delighted at the fact that not one of them has questioned the idea that he’s coming along, but it’s quiet compared to the nervousness invading his mind. “To vanish?”

“To die!” he hears Bokuto whoop.

Akaashi joins him while Tsukishima follows Kuroo into his office. He grabs a satchel from his desk and begins packing various books and blueprints from his shelves. 

“We prepared for this,” explains Kuroo. “In case we got a target on our backs too big to shake off.”

Tsukishima sees Akaashi jog past the office door, a familiar bag in his hands. Gunpowder. 

“You’re burning the house down,” he says in understanding. No wonder Bokuto looked so excited. Tsukishima hears him drop something heavy in the other room as he runs around gathering his things. Kuroo is doing the same, jamming as much as he can in his satchel. “Can I help?”

Kuroo nods, hands occupied with folding a large map. “In our bedroom, at the bottom of the closet, you’ll find already packed bags. The three big ones have clothes in them. The small green one has bones.”

“Bones?!”

“Can’t fake your death in a fire without ‘em.” Kuroo shrugs. “They tend to resist intense heat. If they don’t find any remains, they’ll just think we ran away.”

“Yeah, that’s great, but how the hell did you manage to get your hands on some human bones?”

Kuroo shrugs again, packing another book, careful not to look at him. “Oh, you know. Took a page out of Karasuno’s piracy book. Took my trusty shovel and went treasure hunting.”

Tsukishima raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “You went grave robbing, didn't you?

“Yes, yes I did.”

Tsukishima shakes his head, holding back an exasperated smile. He turns to leave.

“Wait up,” says Kuroo, reaching for his shoulder.

Tsukishima has the time to make a questioning sound before Kuroo is pressing his lips to his in another firm kiss. It ends as quickly as it began, Kuroo pulling back with a pleased smirk. “Carry on.”

Tsukishima blinks, a bit dazed, and heads into the staircase, hiding his giddy grin with a muffled “jerk” under his breath. 

When he reaches the top of the stairs and enters the master bedroom, it hits him that this is the first time he’s actually been inside. And the last, now that he thinks about it. The room is nothing special; there’s a large dresser against the wall, three pairs of indoor shoes resting in various states of order near it, and a bed that rivals in size the one he had in the castle. The left side has far too many pillows, the center only one, carefully placed, and the right has none, its pillow fallen to the floor. The sight makes Tsukishima smile. 

He finds the bags easily, tucked at the bottom of the dresser. He also finds Iwaizumi’s portrait, but he figures it’s probably best to leave it be.

Back in the kitchen, he sees Bokuto already spreading gunpowder around the stove. Akaashi snatches the bone bag from Tsukishima’s hands, carrying a large satchel on his own shoulder undoubtedly filled with knives. Akaashi’s just about done scattering the bones on the ground when Kuroo joins them. 

“Check it out,” exclaims Bokuto, pointing at the powder.

Tsukishima takes a look at Bokuto’s latest masterpiece: a wave filled ocean underneath a starry night sky and a crescent moon. Bokuto grins. “Whaddya think?”

Tsukishima crosses his arms, letting out a deadpan, “It’s beautiful, Bo.”

Understanding the faked sarcasm for what it is, his grin only widens.

They back up towards the front door, their bags packed and everything of importance taken with them. Kuroo strikes a match, and Tsukishima takes a second to look at the house. The kitchen is messy. There’s an old travelling cloak draped over one of the dining chairs, along with several pairs of gloves randomly thrown around the floor. The table is covered in wine stains and the far wall is full of knife holes. 

Bokuto’s hand slips in his; Akaashi is holding onto his shoulder. Kuroo glances at him, and Tsukishima nods.

Kuroo throws the match.

*****

The closer they get to the port, the more Tsukishima can see the ship, its shadowed shape blocking out the stars along the horizon. A cool breeze is moving its rising sails and even from here Tsukishima can hear the shouts of its crew getting ready to leave. He slows down, letting Kuroo and Akaashi walk on ahead. Bokuto stays nearby, hand still clasped in his own.

Tsukishima stops completely and Bokuto tilts his head. In lieu of answering his silent question, Tsukishima looks back at the street they just exited. From where they stand, he can just barely see the city skyline; an ocean of tile rooftops, high reaching chimneys, and dimly lit windows.

At the edge of it all, on the other side of town, stands the castle. Tsukishima can make out the top of its towers, the bright flags waving along their roofs impossible to miss. The castle itself is mostly hidden, however. A huge column of smoke grows from the Eastern district, dark enough to blend in with the night sky. 

The palace is fading behind it, its brilliant lights dissolving under the ever growing cloud of smoke. Tsukishima smiles.

Bokuto’s hand squeezes his and Tsukishima turns his smile to him. Bokuto grins.

Behind them, Akaashi and Kuroo have backtracked, waiting for them with questioning looks. 

Kuroo raises an inviting hand. “Ready to go?”

Tsukishima lets his gaze go back to the ship for a moment, before he closes his eyes, and lets himself feel. The mourning of his past life, of laughter-filled lunches with Akiteru, of silk sheets and fine leather shoes. The regret that he couldn’t do more as a prince, that he had to leave, that he hadn’t done so sooner. The fear of starting over, of messing up, of making more mistakes.

Tsukishima exhales a deep breath, and lets all those thoughts break away. His eyes open. Bokuto, Akaashi, and Kuroo are still there, waiting.

And Tsukishima feels the happiness, the hope, the excitement, the pride, the serenity, the exhilaration. The love. He smiles at himself. When did he become such a sucker for emotions?

But the hand in his is warm, and Tsukishima can’t say he doesn’t like the person he’s become. 

He nods. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and then, the epilogue. coming soon.


	12. Crime Pays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year ~

Tsukishima is woken up by a loud knock at the front door. He groans, digging his face further into his pillow, hoping that it’ll go away if he ignores it. There are ten seconds of blissful silence. Followed by ten door shockingly strong knocks.

Tsukishima’s pillow shifts, then mumbles, “someone’s at the door” in a voice that sounds a lot like Kuroo’s.

“Not it,” says Bokuto from behind him.

“Not it,” repeats Kuroo.

“Nmmmh mmmh,” says Akaashi on the other side of the bed. 

Apparently that jumble of sounds counts, because Kuroo is shoving Tsukishima off his chest. Bokuto’s arm slips off his hip as he’s forced into a standing position, sleepiness making him sway slightly. The sudden loss of warmth makes him want to protest his eviction of the bed, but he's stopped by another series of knocks.

Groaning, Tsukishima shuffles out of the bedroom, through the living room and to the front door. He swings it open with a tired, “What.”

p[[There’s no one behind the door. He blinks the rising sun out of his eyes, confused. 

“Good morning, Tsukki!”

Tsukishima jumps, looking down to see Hinata’s bright orange hair curling around his grinning face. Tsukishima sighs. “What do you want?”

Hinata raises a brown bag to Tsukishima’s face. “I have a delivery!”

Before Tsukishima has the chance to respond that it can wait until noon ( _ at least _ ), Hinata pushes his way past him and into the kitchen, dropping the bag on the table. 

Tsukishima rubs at his tired eyes, shutting the door behind him. Hinata is running around his house, opening the curtains and making Tsukishima squint, before heading back to the kitchen and lighting the stove. The sight of Hinata next to an open flame sure wakes Tsukishima up, though, and he rushes over, batting away Hinata’s hands. “Leave it.”

Hinata pouts. “But—”

“No. I already had one of my houses burn down in the last year, I’m not doing it again.”

“I just wanted to make tea!”

“I’ll make it.  _ If  _ you tell me why you’re here ruining my morning.”

Hinata frowns, stomping over to his ‘delivery.’ “I’ll have you know,” he says, “that I’m here to amazi-fy your morning.” He drops the content of the bag onto the table, letting out an avalanche of paper wrapped pastries and breads. 

Tsukishima ignores him, opting instead to get started on the morning tea. He’s just about done setting the kettle on the stove when Bokuto stumbles into the kitchen, sleeping clothes rumpled and hair a mess. “Hinata!” he exclaims with a smile. “What’re you doing here?”

Hinata bounces over to him. “Coach made me bring you breakfast! You haven’t gone to see him since you came back and he’s worried you haven’t been eating enough. I mean, I guess he’s worried. It’s what Takeda said. Coach just yelled a lot.”

Bokuto laughs sheepishly, rubbing a hand around the back of his neck. “Yeah, we should probably drop by soon. We kinda forgot.”

Tsukishima sighs, pulling mugs out of the cabinet. “It’s barely been a month. We’ve been busy, Bo.”

It’s true. After coming back from their five month voyage aboard the Karasuno (a whole three months longer than anticipated), their lives had become quite hectic. Between regaining favour with their contacts, catching up with the political gossip, and finding a new place to live, all while keeping as low a profile as possible, they’ve had very little time to relax. The first task on that list was the hardest by far; after all, the royals weren’t the only ones who believed them dead. A lot of their allies had been left high and dry after their sudden departure, as they abandoned a lot of owed favors and jobs paid in advance when they ran away. 

Soon after their return, Kuroo spent over three days at Kenma’s, going over everything that happened with the nobility while they were gone, which was apparently  _ a lot _ . After Tsukishima went missing for the second time, things became… chaotic. The official story given by the royals was that the prince had been sent as an ambassador to a far away kingdom. No one believed it, each noble coming up with their own theory as to what  _ really _ happened—the lies and rumors circulating disrupted the relative calm of the world of the nobility. The resulting drama gave Kuroo quite a lot to catch up on; which families were feuding, which had reconciled, which lord gained favour and which lost it. At least now they finally had all the information needed to pull cons against them. 

Their first success was the deceitful purchasing of the house. It was also the dumbest job Tsukishima had ever participated in. By far. 

A relatively large and isolated two-story cottage on the edge of town, it was out of the way enough to keep away prying eyes, but not so far as to be inconvenient. Kept cool all year long by the shade of the tall trees surrounding it, with many large windows and a bedroom just big enough to fit their behemoth of a bed, it was the perfect place for them. 

They, of course, had enough money to purchase it. But Kuroo insisted that they make it a con, anyways.They were sitting around their tiny cabin aboard the docked Karasuno, Tsukishima trying to read a book while Bokuto helped Akaashi polish his knives (“The humidity on this boat is awful for the blades.”). 

“We can’t just buy it,” insisted Kuroo.

Tsukishima sighed, flopping back against their cot’s pillow. “Why not?”

“Have you ever bought a house, Tsukki?”

“You know I haven’t.”

“Well, when you try to buy a house, the seller asks for a bunch of stuff. Most of which we’re in no position to give.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, you know. Your papers, contract signatures, deposits, bank information, your left kidney—”

Tsukishima sat up to give him a bored glare. “I get it.” He rolled his eyes before turning them back to his book. “So what do we do?”

Kuroo shrugged. “We make them desperate to get rid of it. If we make the house unsellable, they’ll give it to the first willing buyer, no questions asked.”

“How are we going to do that without ruining it for ourselves?” Akaashi asked with a squint.

Bokuto perked up at that. “I have an idea.”

This led to them spending hours hanging stolen dead fish among the leafy branches of the trees surrounding the cottage in what was the most ridiculous night of Tsukishima’s life. The experience was exhausting, difficult and, most notably, gooey. But as silly as the endeavor was, it worked. Spending time in the house became practically impossible due to the invasive odor of rotting fish permeating every room. And because they’d hidden them in random, hard to attain spots, no one involved in the selling or purchasing of the house was able to identify the source. It took less than three weeks for the sellers to give up entirely and quickly sell it to them at a fraction of its value, practically thanking them as they did so.

The hour spent  _ removing  _ the fish was— Tsukishima would rather not think about it. Ever again. 

But now, looking around the house, he feels it was worth it. They have a nice, comfortable living room that doubles as a work space, with a row of knives hanging over the fireplace and Bokuto’s safes used as small tables in between the couches. Kuroo has an office here, too, that’s just as small and dark as his previous one. It’s still a mess of papers and books; Tsukishima doubts that will ever change. 

The kitchen is tiny but the dining area is enormous, with a table that stretches across the entire room. It feels too big now, with only Bokuto and Hinata sitting there, but it always feels small when they invite their friends for dinner; someone always has to sit on the counter. 

Tsukishima hands them both a mug as they continue loudly chatting over the table. He pretends to listen from his spot leaning by the stove, sipping on his own tea. 

It isn’t long before the noise wakes Akaashi up, who drags his still mostly asleep self through the house like a zombie. Not looking up, he lifts his hand in a gesture that could generously be interpreted as a wave.

“Hey, Akaashi!” chirps Hinata.

Akaashi ignores the greeting in favour of stumbling face first into Tsukishima’s chest, arms wrapping around his waist. “ —’s too early.”

Tsukishima blinks, shaking off a strange feeling of déjà vu. Careful to hold his hot mug away from Akaashi, he rests his free hand on the back of Akaashi’s neck. “Tell that to our guest.”

Breakfast isn’t a long affair; Bokuto and Hinata eat quickly, arguing with their mouths full, while Akaashi falls back asleep on Tsukishima, still standing. Hinata leaves almost as soon as they’re done, eager to go try out the new pickpocketing trick Bokuto’s just explained to him. 

“You’re a terrible influence,” says Tsukishima, chin resting on Akaashi’s head.

“Yeah, duh,” scoffs Bokuto, picking up the abandoned dishes. “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have the prince chilling in my kitchen.” He grins as he walks past Tsukishima to the sink, stopping on his way to press a quick kiss to Tsukisima’s temple.

Tsukishima looks away, clearing his throat. “Ex-prince.” He hands Bokuto his empty mug. “I’m thinking of going into town today. Maybe do some reconnaissance for our next job.”

At that, Akaashi lifts his head, sleepy eyes looking into his own. “Be careful out there,” he mumbles. He kisses his lips softly before extricating himself from Tsukishima’s arms to sit at the table, where Bokuto hands him a steaming cup. “And don’t forget your gear again.”

Tsukishima doesn’t. He leaves the house half an hour later, wearing a light travelling cloak and his gear tied to his belt. Outside, the once blinding morning sun is disappearing behind fast rolling clouds, and by the time Tsukishima reaches town, the sky is a thick grey. 

He heads straight for the nearest market. It’s very busy in the mornings, and Tsukishima blends in easily with the crowd. He wanders from cart to cart, glancing through store windows, pretending to shop. In reality, he’s searching for anyone wearing anything shiny. Maybe a top hat.

He spots what he’s looking for soon enough; a few stalls down stand two men, both wearing long pristine black coats with sparkling cuffs. One is chatting up a fruit merchant with a wide smile, while the other gives her merchandise a disdainful look, the lower half of his face hidden behind a white scarf. Tsukishima nicknames them Jabber and Snob.

Evidently bored of waiting for the conversation to end, Snob tugs on Jabber’s sleeve, dragging him away from the stand. Tsukishima moves to follow them, getting as close as possible to listen to their conversation without making himself obvious. They don’t seem to be wearing anything he can just pick off, but they can probably lead him to an interesting target. 

Ever since their return, Tsukishima has discovered a new talent of his: he’s surprisingly good at tailing people unnoticed. After his disastrous first attempt at following Kuroo, Bokuto, and Akaashi to the bar all those months ago, he’d insisted on lessons. It only took a few tips and tricks from Kuroo to get the hang of it. It’s intuitive. He knows when to look away, when to stop and seem busy, when to simply disappear out of view. He’s great at estimating the exact distance to keep from his target, at guessing where they’ll turn next. 

Tsukishima follows them until they reach their destination: an art gallery. He curses under his breath. Galleries aren’t really profitable jobs for them anymore, when most of their contacts in the art world still think they’re dead.

Tsukishima decides to check out the inside of the place anyway, just in case there’s anything else in there worth stealing. The two men step inside the building and Tsukishima knows he can’t follow. Instead, he heads for the side of the building, intending on looking in through the windows. 

Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to be an option either. At least, not an easy one. A gate has been installed, blocking off the alleyway in between the gallery and its neighboring building. With a sigh, Tsukishima reaches for his belt, intending on taking out his lockpick, when he notices that the lock is only accessible from the inside. So much for the easy way in.

With a second, much more pained sigh, he slips on his gloves and, after a brief look around to make sure he’s out of sight, he begins scaling the fence. It still surprises him how good he’s gotten at things like this. A year ago, he could barely climb two sets of stairs without running out of breath.

Once in the alleyway, he takes a minute to pick the lock, giving himself an easy out should he end up needing one. 

The gallery has many tall windows on every side, but all of them are made of heavy stained glass, making it impossible for Tsukishima to see anything. Undeterred, he unhooks his knife from his belt and jimmies one of them open. Just a crack, just enough to see indoors without anyone inside noticing. He doesn’t even need to be quiet; the cool morning breeze has picked up significantly, and the alleyway is now a whistling wind tunnel. 

Glued to the wall, Tsukishima peers in at an angle. The gallery is one enormous room, with polished floors and a high ceiling, where the voices of Jabber and Snob echo. Unfortunately, the art featured is nothing that could feasibly be stolen. It’s a collection of large marble statues, most of them depicting men and women in various states of undress, and a singular golden statue that looks way too much like Oikawa for Tsukishima’s liking.

What sticks out most to Tsukishima, however, is the strange way the gallery is lit. Instead of the typical chandeliers he’s grown to expect, the room’s only source of light is hundreds of candles, carefully laid out in front of each window. It shows off the colourful glass in an interesting way, but leaves most of the gallery occupied by shadows. 

Tsukishima struggles to hear the men inside. He presses himself even closer to the window, only managing to understand bits and pieces of their conversation.

Tsukishima is so preoccupied by his attempts at listening that he doesn’t notice the wind growing stronger, until it blows so hard it slams the window wide open. He starts at the sudden noise, and is quick to jump back and out of view. Heavy steps start walking to the window. 

If Tsukishima was close to the wall before, now he’s downright trying to melt into it, holding his breath. Luckily, the person (Snob, he’s pretty sure) doesn’t bother looking out, and simply shuts the window again with an irritated noise. Through the glass and his pounding heart, Tsukishima can hear him call out, “Do you have any matches? The candles blew out.”

Tsukishima lets out a relieved breath. He starts to wonder if trying to open the window again is worth the risk when—- 

“What are you doing?

Tsukishima jumps again, his heart rate picking back up at a frightening speed. He whirls around, ready to explain, or possibly defend, himself, only to be met with a familiar face. 

“Oh for fu— You scared me half to death!”

Evidently, despite improving his skill at following others, he still isn’t great at noticing when  _ he’s  _ being followed. There in the alleyway stands Tanaka, a crewmate of the Karasuno, wearing a cape matching Tsukishima’s and a suggestive grin. 

“Surprised to see me?”

“I’m honestly more surprised you’re wearing a shirt.”

“Are you spying on someone? Is it a cute girl? Wait. No. Is it a cute boy?” Tanaka waggles his eyebrows, moving to look through the window.

Tsukishima is quick to yank him backwards before anyone inside can see him. Tanaka fights his way out of Tsukishima’s grip to point a righteous finger at him. “I knew it! I’m telling Akaashi.”

Annoyed, Tsukishima bats his finger away with an eye roll. “If I was into voyeurism, I wouldn’t be doing it in a dirty alley.”

“Voiya-what?”

Tsukishima decides to head back out into the street before someone less friendly spots him as well. “I’m saying I’m not here for a peepshow, I was just gathering information for a job,” he says, leaving through the now open gate. 

Tanaka jogs after him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as they walk. Tsukishima lets him, having learned very quickly aboard the Karasuno that refusing physical affection without good reason would only result in even more hugging. Apparently, being a “grumpy dude” wasn’t enough of a reason.

The streets are almost empty now, and a light drizzle is darkening the cobblestones. “Don’t bother with that gallery,” Tanaka says. “Too many guards everywhere watching” —he puts his free hand over his eyes like a visor— “like hawks!”

“Don’t you have anything else to do?” Tsukishima’s tone turns sarcastically sweet. “I’m sure Nishinoya is terribly lonely without you.”

“Nah, he’s out of town for a few days with Asahi. And you would  _ know that _ if you dropped by the bar more, like you said you would.”

Tsukishima purses his lips. He’d said that when leaving the Karasuno; he didn’t think he’d actually be held to it. “What’s the point? You get distracted by the barmaid the second you walk in.”

Tanaka practically swoons, letting go of Tsukishima’s shoulders to curl both hands under his chin and bat his eyelashes. “I can’t help it, Tsukki, she’s just so beautiful. Like an angel. Absolutely enchanting!”

“Hey, hey, hey, he sure is!” sounds a voice behind them.

Both of them turn around to see Bokuto having just reached them, grinning broadly as he glues himself to Tsukishima’s side. 

“Hey, man!” Tanaka says. “We still on for drinks next week?”

Bokuto nods enthusiastically, but a frowning Tsukishima interrupts him before he can answer. “Why are you here so early? Your contact chats usually take at least a couple of hours, did something happen?”

Bokuto’s smile turns soft when he says, “I’m good, don’t worry. But it’s about to rain and my bones were getting a little too stiff, so I cut my run short.”

Tsukishima’s expression darkens at that. The humidity aboard the Karasuno took a toll on Bokuto, and Tsukishima hated not being able to do anything to ease the pain. He doesn’t want him to see him suffer again. 

“Hold up,” jumps in Tanaka. “What time is it anyway?”

“When I was in the main square earlier, the town clock read around ten,” answers Bokuto.

“And how long ago was that?”

Bokuto shrugs. “I dunno.”

“Ah, man,” cries Tanaka. He lets his head fall back with all the drama Tsukishima’s come to expect from him. “I’m probably late. Cap Daichi’s gonna kill me.” He releases a theatrical sigh. “I gotta go,” he says, already jogging away. 

“I’ll make sure Kiyoko comes to the funeral!” calls out Bokuto.

Tanaka whoops with excitement, before accelerating around a corner and running out of sight.

Tsukishima exhales a short laugh. “Wow. He’s gonna be  _ really _ late.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Their hideout is the other way.”

Bokuto laughs, pushing his shoulder against Tsukishima’s. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

The words are barely out of his mouth when the drizzle suddenly worsens into a downpour. 

“Or maybe not,” shouts Bokuto over the roar of the rain. 

By the time they finally find shelter in some empty stables, their clothes are soaked through, water leaking through their boots. They lean against the cheap wooden walls, each on one side, taking in the sheets of rain as they catch their breaths.

Bokuto chuckles through his shivers, shaking his dripping hair away from his eyes. “Damn, and it was so sunny this morning, too.”

Tsukishima grunts in response, focused on squeezing the water out of the edge of his cloak.

Bokuto continues with a cheeky smile, “Was the intel you got worth this?”

He sighs, annoyed at the reminder. “It was, until I was interrupted.”

“Enough for a job?”

Tsukishima hesitates. “Enough to ask Kenma for a building plan, I think. I might have to go back once or twice to get more information.”

“And hopefully less Tanaka.”

Tsukishima huffs out a laugh. “And hopefully less Tanaka,” he repeats. “Don’t tell him I said this, but he scared the hell out of me.”

“He did?” Bokuto asks, eyes wide.

“Yeah, he sneaked up behind me and nearly gave me a heart attack. Is a warning too much to ask for?”

“What? How?” Bokuto stops, obviously lost in thought. “Maybe he could wear a bell, like a cow.”

“I think just following normal social decorum would be enough.”

“Like how?” Bokuto asks again.

“Like asking permission before entering someone’s personal space!” Tsukishima snaps.

“‘Asking permission’...” Bokuto ponders this for a moment, before flashing Tsukishima a bright smile. “Well then, Your Highness, may I have the permission to cross this stable and join you?”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes at the joking tone. “Obviously.”

Bokuto takes a large step forward, bringing himself marginally closer. “Mmh, this is still a bit far. May I come closer?”

Tsukishima pauses a moment to judge the space between them. “Yeah.”

Bokuto nods, his smile softer now, and takes another wide step, coming toe to toe with Tsukishima. This close, Tsukishima can see the rivulets of water slipping from Bokuto’s hair and rolling along his jaw. “May I come closer?”

Tsukishima glances at the ground, where the tips of their boots are touching. “I don’t think you’d be able to.”

“In that case,” Bokuto says, raising a hand to hover over Tsukishima’s hip, “may I touch you?”

Tsukishima swallows and offers a small nod. “Yeah.”

Bokuto’s hand is still cold from the rain, yet still somehow warmer than Tsukishima’s as it rests along his side. Bokuto’s other hand does the same, and soon Tsukishima finds himself completely in his arms, his heart pounding against Bokuto’s chest. There isn’t an inch of space left between them, Bokuto’s nose brushing against his own. Tsukishima can hear the smile in his voice when he asks, “May I kiss you?”

“Yeah.”

Bokuto firmly presses his lips against his, and Tsukishima feels himself melt, suddenly very warm. 

They get home later than anticipated, but Tsukishima can’t find it in himself to care. 

****

  
  
  


When they get home, the rain long since stopped and their clothes mostly dry, Bokuto heads straight for the kitchen. Tsukishima sighs and does  _ not _ pout as he slips out of his cloak and shoes. 

Bokuto does most of the cooking in their house—Tsukishima can’t be bothered to learn, Akaashi technically isn’t bad but tends to make weird flavour combinations, and Kuroo will often forget to eat at all. Bokuto seems to enjoy it, though, so it works out. 

In the kitchen, he’s already bustling around, gathering ingredients for what looks like a stew. Realizing that he’s lost Bokuto’s attention, Tsukishima opts to just lean against the counter and watch. Bokuto narrates his actions while he cooks; he says it helps him concentrate. His hair is still wet, water occasionally falling down onto his bare arms, the muscles shifting underneath as he moves. Tsukishima lets him work, appreciating the view.

“Hey, Tsukki, can you  pass the salt?”

Tsukishima doesn’t move, despite the fact that the salt is literally right next to him. Bokuto huffs and dries his hands off before making his way over to get it himself. But when he reaches out to pick the salt shaker up, he’s stopped by Tsukishima grabbing his arm. Bokuto looks at him and Tsukishima raises an eyebrow. 

Bokuto grins slowly at Tsukishima’s obvious interest. This time, nothing stops him from raising his hand and using it to guide Tsukishima into a firm kiss. 

He melts into it, bracing an arm on the counter behind him. The motion seems to please Bokuto—he moves forward until he’s pressed up against Tsukishima, pushing him into the counter as he deepens the kiss. The touch of his tongue makes Tsukishima groan. Bokuto chases the sound, licking deeper into his mouth, and Tsukishima grips his bicep shamelessly. 

Bokuto hums in approval, letting Tsukishima’s hands wander—along his shoulders, down his back. Tsukishima thinks he’ll never get used to the way Bokuto is all muscle. He keeps going on his journey until his hands are on Bokuto’s ass, just as firm as the rest of him. Tsukishima pauses for a moment before grabbing a handful and squeezing. He laughs as Bokuto squeaks, breaking their kiss. He puts their foreheads together, both of them panting slightly. 

Tsukishima takes the moment to catch his breath, slipping his hands around to Bokuto’s waist. Bokuto’s arms are bracing himself on the counter, effectively caging him in. Tsukishima smirks; there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. 

“I need to watch the food,” Bokuto says, his voice low. He’s grinning playfully. Tsukishima doesn’t think there’s any food  _ to  _ watch, at this point, but he doesn’t point this out. 

“I’m not stopping you,” Tsukishima replies as flatly as he can manage. He isn’t very successful; Bokuto noses along his jaw as he begins speaking, causing his breathing to hitch. Bokuto chuckles, the breath ghosting across Tsukishima’s skin. He shivers. 

Bokuto presses soft, open-mouthed kisses to his jaw, his neck, pulls the collar of his shirt aside to reach his collarbone. Tsukishima feels them in his whole body, every nerve on fire. 

Bokuto mouths at the spot between his jaw and his ear and Tsukishima can’t stop the long moan that comes out, unbidden. He can feel Bokuto grin against his skin—can feel his breath along his neck. 

Can feel the movement of his lips as he murmurs, “Can I fuck you?”

The effect is immediate—if Tsukishima wasn’t hard before, he is now. He only realizes that he’s nodding enthusiastically until after he’s started. He doesn’t have it in him to feel embarrassed right now. 

Bokuto leaves his neck alone to give him one final searching kiss, before reaching around to grab Tsukishima—and pick him right up off the ground like he weighs nothing. It’s Tsukishima’s turn to squeak and he instinctively wraps his legs around Bokuto’s waist, grabbing his shoulders for balance. 

“Don’t you dare drop me,” Tsukishima hisses, the threat undercut by how breathless he sounds. Bokuto laughs easily, starting towards the bedroom. 

“Don’t you trust me, Tsukki?” Bokuto teases, eyes focused entirely on Tsukishima. He does trust him, of course he does. He’s safe in Bokuto’s arms, even if he isn’t looking where he’s going. As if Tsukishima can say that, though. 

But his silences are telling and Bokuto places a small kiss on his shoulder with a grin. Tsukishima hides his face in Bokuto’s neck to get away from those observant eyes.

Bokuto carries him to their bed, dropping him onto it unceremoniously. Tsukishima huffs, indignant, propping himself up on his elbows as Bokuto ignores him to grab something from the nightstand table, tossing it next to them. 

Bokuto crawls onto the bed, hovering over him. His hand tugs at the bottom of Tsukishima’s shirt. 

“Can I take this off?”

Tsukishima swallows. “You first.”

Bokuto doesn’t need to be told twice; his shirt is off in a matter of seconds. He settles back onto his heels, looking a little nervous, to Tsukishima’s endearment.

Bokuto is allergic to wearing shirts around the house, so it’s not like Tsukishima’s never seen this before—but he stares anyway, letting heat curl in his belly. Bokuto’s throat is slowly turning red under his wandering eyes; Tsukishima bites his lip, inordinately pleased to be able to have such an effect on the man in front of him. 

His nerves calmed for the moment, Tsukishima moves to remove his own shirt. Bokuto stops him.

He lets Bokuto take it off, obediently lifting his arms, watching him the whole while. 

Bokuto’ throws the shirt without looking to see where it lands, already focused on kissing Tsukishima again. Tsukishima’s pants are next to go, leaving him completely naked.

Bokuto shamelessly lets his eyes rove over him. Tsukishima doesn’t move to cover himself, burning under Bokuto’s gaze. 

He rubs a warm and calloused hand up Tsukishima’s thighs. “Beautiful…”

“You aren’t so bad yourself,” Tsukishima replies, mostly to avoid the way the compliment makes him feel. It’s not like it isn’t true—Bokuto’s golden eyes are gleaming in the afternoon light; his body belongs in a painting.

“Tsukki!” Bokuto exclaims, lunging forward to kiss him. Tsukishima plants a hand in his face to stop him, smiling, until Bokuto licks his hand, causing him to yelp and let go. Victorious, Bokuto gets his kiss. Before he can pull away, however, Tsukishima grabs his face with both hands, determined to keep him in place. Bokuto settles into it immediately, letting his body press against Tsukishima’s, his erection obvious through his pants against Tsukishima’s thigh. 

Impatience has Tsukishima rutting against him insistently, desperate for any friction. It’s not enough and Tsukishima grabs the waistband of Bokuto’s pants, trying to tug them down. 

“Uh—are you sure?” Bokuto breaks the kiss to ask.

“Take your pants off,” Tsukishima says. He means to sound commanding, but it comes out as more of a whine. 

Either way, it works—Bokuto shimmies out of them, chuckling. “Excuse me for trying to take things slow for our first time,” he mutters, clearly amused. He settles back next to Tsukishima, and reaches for the bottle next to them on the bed. 

“This’ll be easier if you’re on your stomach,” Bokuto says, his hand grazing Tsukishima’s ribs. It’s like he can’t stop touching him—Tsukishima isn’t complaining. He rolls over and hides a pleased smile in one of the many pillows at the head of the bed when Bokuto whistles appreciatively. He wiggles, a silent demand for Bokuto to stop ogling him and get on with it. 

“So impatient,” Bokuto teases, lightly tracing the curve of his ass. Tsukishima brings the pillow closer, resisting the urge to lift his hips to chase the touch. A slick finger is pushing into him then and he holds his breath as it goes in easily. 

“You’ve done this before,” Bokuto says, amused, as he adds another finger immediately. It’s not a question.

“Not—ah. Not with another person,” Tsukishima admits, shifting to try and get Bokuto’s fingers deeper. 

Bokuto leans forward to kiss Tsukishima’s shoulder softly. “Lucky me, then.”

Despite the very vulnerable position he’s in, it’s that comment, and the earnest way Bokuto says it that has Tsukishima squirming. Bokuto takes it for more impatience and adds another finger, working him open methodically. Tsukishima groans at the stretch and wonders why it took them so long to get here. 

Bokuto takes his time, despite Tsukishima’s insistence that he’s ready. 

“Let me enjoy this, Tsukki,” he says after Tsukishima complains again. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Tsukishima doesn’t tell him to hurry up anymore after that.

Bokuto slips his fingers out and Tsukishima lets him maneuver him until he’s on his back by the headboard. His eyes linger on Bokuto’s arms, his thighs—even his ridiculous hair is doing it for him right now. 

Bokuto positions himself on top of Tsukishima, his weight comforting. He goes to speak, likely to ask again if Tsukishima is okay, but he smartly shuts up at Tsukishima’s glare. Then he’s pushing in and Tsukishima’s sour expression melts away as he grips Bokuto’s back. It hurts a little, despite everything, but Tsukishima doesn’t mind. Bokuto goes slowly until he’s all the way in, pausing to let Tsukishima adjust and staring at him with wide eyes. After a minute Tsukishima shifts his hips experimentally and they both groan. Bokuto doesn’t hesitate after that, pulling Tsukishima into a kiss and starting to move in shallow thrusts.

He picks up the pace, falling into a rhythm that’s hard and fast. Tsukishima wraps his legs around Bokuto’s waist, pulling him closer and just trying to keep up. 

“Your legs are so long, Jesus christ,” Bokuto comments panting. It’s not even a compliment, more of an observation really, but Tsukishima feels himself blushing anyway. After that, it’s like a dam has broken and Boktuo is almost babbling—telling Tsukishima exactly and explicitly what he likes about him. It’s like he isn’t even aware of half of what he’s saying, and his rhythm never falters. 

“Your hands, Tsukki, they’re so like, elegant, nothing like mine, they’re so soft—“

Tsukishima likes how rough Bokuto’s hands are, likes how they completely engulf his own. He can’t say that—because of his own embarrassment and the fact that Bokuto has moved onto the small birthmark on Tsukishima’s back—so instead he grabs Bokuto’s hand and laces their fingers together. Bokuto stops talking, slowing down his thrusts and smiles before kissing him.

The wave of emotions is almost too much—Bokuto always and consistently makes Tsukishima feel undeniably wanted. He wants, in this moment, to be able to do the same for Bokuto. But he doesn't know how, so he kisses him back thoroughly, hoping Bokuto will figure it out somehow. 

This new pace, slow and purposeful, is driving him crazy. He can feel his orgasm building, but it’s not enough. 

He lets go of Bokuto’s hand to slip it between them. Bokuto, realizing what he’s doing, nudges him out of the way and then Bokuto’s hand is around him, stroking in time with his thrusts. 

Tsukishima pushes up into it, chasing his release shamelessly. Bokuto watches him carefully, his expression full of….awe? Tsukishima squeezes his eyes shut, unable to look at him. 

“Bo….”Tsukihsima whimpers, needing to say something. Bokuto tightens his grip and Tsukishima clings to him as he comes. 

Bokuto fucks him through it slowly. He barely registers Bokuto slipping out of him—but he does notice the kiss to his forehead and the soft smile on Bokuto’s face as he settles next to him. Tsukishima musters up a smile of his own in return, letting himself be kissed again.

Even in his post-orgasm haze, Tsukishima doesn’t forget about Bokuto. He doesn’t tease him, just grips him firmly and does his best to mimic what he would do to himself. 

“You don’t have to, Tsukki—” Bokuto chokes out, cutting himself off with a groan. In response, Tsukishima goes faster. It doesn't take long until Bokuto, too, is spilling between them. 

Tsukishima wipes his hand on the sheets and lays back, otherwise uncaring of the mess. Bokuto’s gingers find their way to Tsukishima’s hair, threading through the sweaty strands lightly, and Tsukishima’s eyes close, soothed. He leans into Bokuto and feels an arm wrap around him. 

He’s already half asleep when he hears their front door opening, signalling the arrival of Kuroo and Akaashi home from their errands. He ignores it, shoving his face into Bokuto’s shoulder.

“We’re in here!” Bokuto calls in response to Kuroo’s questioning yell. 

After a moment, Tsukishima hears Kuroo laughing at the door to the bedroom. He doesn’t move. 

“What are you laughing about—oh,” Akaashi says, joining Kuroo by the door.

“Hi,” Bokuto says, still holding Tsukishima. He sounds way too smug, but Tsukishima isn’t in any position to do anything about it. 

“Princess, are you alive in there?” Kuroo asks lightly, his voice coming closer. Tsukishima grunts in affirmation. 

“What did you do to him, Bokuto?” Akaashi says, amused. 

“I think he bored him to death,” Kuroo teases. “Look at him, he can’t even open his eyes!” 

Tsukishima can feel more than hear the way Bokuto blusters at that. He extricates a hand in order to pat Bokuto’s arm, mumbling, “You were great, Bo.”

“Tsukki!” Bokuto gasps, but he sounds inordinately pleased. Tsukishima smiles into his skin and shuffles closer. 

“That’s nice, but are you two going to clean that up? We have to sleep in this bed, you know,” Akaashi interrupts, his voice deadpan.

“And I thought you were making dinner, Bo,” Kuroo adds in a stern voice. 

Tsukishima grabs one of the many pillows on the bed and throws it in the direction of the door. 

Kuroo and Akaashi laugh. 

*****

The bar is loud tonight. Well, it’s loud every night, but today feels especially grating to Tsukishima’s ears. It could be because of the heavy rain hammering down on the roof, or the large number of patrons. Or maybe it’s Kageyama and Hinata’s screaming match at the other end of the bar. Who can say? 

Tsukishima takes another sip of his ale, counting down the minutes.

“It’s good to see you, Tsukishima,” Kiyoko greets as she approaches from behind the bar. 

“You say that like you’re surprised.”

She shrugs. “You’re not usually here on Wednesdays.”

Tsukishima blinks, startled that she’s picked up on his schedule so quickly. It’s not that he has something to do on Wednesdays that stops him from dropping by, but Bokuto, Akaashi, and Kuroo sure do, and Tsukishima would rather eat a bowl of nails than go to a crowded bar alone. “Yamaguchi insisted on meeting up tonight.”

“Is it a special occasion?”

“I guess? Something to do with Yachi.”

“You called?” Yachi asks, appearing beside Kiyoko, her pigtails a mess and her face flushed pink. Tsukishima met the both of them aboard the Karasuno and, although they’d spent many months together, they’d never spoken all that much. Kiyoko was more of the silent type, and Yachi spent most of her time glued to her side, acting like a frightened mouse in a thunderstorm. Even after all the time spent in close proximity, Tsukishima can’t say he knows her all that well. But judging by the constant pleased blush on her and Yamaguchi’s face whenever they interact, she seems to make his friend happy, and that’s all he really needs to know. She offers him a shy nod, trying to catch her breath.

Kiyoko stares down at her with her usual calm expression. “Did you try to bring the barrels in by yourself again?”

Yachi lets out a shy squeak. “Y-yeah, but you looked busy, so I thought I’d give it a try.”

Their brief conversation is interrupted by a loud shout from across the room. 

“For the last time,” screams Hinata, “sugar comes from caves!”

“No, it doesn’t!” Kageyama barks back. “It comes from the sea, like salt!”

“That doesn’t make ANY SENSE. Sugar is a crystal! Like diamonds!”

“SALT IS ALSO A CRYSTAL, MORON!”

“YOU’RE THE MORON, MORON!”

Kiyoko sighs. “If you want to help, Yachi, maybe go try and calm them down?”

“I-I’ll try.”

With that, Yachi scurries away, and Kiyoko begins pouring another row of mugs.

“Is that for you?” Tsukishima asks, trying and failing not to sound snarky.

“No, the regulars just walked in,” she says, looking over his shoulder.

Tsukishima doesn’t need to turn around to know who she’s talking about.

“Tsukki!” shouts Nishinoya as he rushes to his side, the entire Karasuno crew in tow. “Come sit with us!”

“I can’t, I’m waiting for Yamaguchi,” tries to refuse Tsukishima. It’s no use; Nishinoya is already tugging him by the wrist to their usual table while Sugawara pushes him along. 

“He’ll join us too,” reassures Sugawara. “It’s been too long since we’ve hung out.”

“It’s only been four days!” Tsukishima’s protests fall on deaf ears.

After a brief scuffle to sit everyone down, something becomes apparent to Tsukishima. “Where’s Tanaka?”

“He’s been late three times this week,” answers Daichi, “so he’s spending the evening scrubbing the deck.”

Tsukishima hides his guilty smile in his mug, knowing full well he’s partly at fault for that one. 

“Listen, Tsukki,” Asahi starts, his large form barely fitting on his tiny bar stool, “we need your advice on something.”

“What is it?”

“Well, since we’re planning on staying on dry land for a while, we were thinking of maybe getting a dog for the hideout.”

“They’re good for spotting intruders,” fills in Sugawara.

Tsukishima raises an eyebrow. “And what do you need me for?”

“We need help coming up with a name,” says Asahi.

“Cap’ain wanted to be the one to name him,” Nishinoya says, “but he’s terrible at naming stuff.”

Daichi puts his drink down, annoyed. “I am  _ not  _ that bad.”

“Ah, yes you are,” interjects Sugawara, 

“My naming skills are  _ fine _ .”

“Okay, honey,” says Sugawara with a sigh. “Remind me the name of our ship?”

Daichi deflates like a man who knows what’s coming. “The Karasuno.”

“Uh huh. And what’s the name of the kingdom we’re in right now?”

A pause.

“Karasuno— look, the guy with the sale paperwork wanted me to come up with a name right away, I had no ideas, and the Karasuno port sign was right there—”

“Right, right. The point still stands. Someone else names the dog.”

Daichi crosses his arms. “Fine. But I have final say on your suggestions.”

“Whatever you say, dear.”

The chatter continues like that for a while, pointless topics flowing from one into another as the crew gets progressively more tipsy. Tsukishima’s sat through hundreds of these conversations on the ship. He never minds them; he makes it a game to wait for exact right moment to quip something inflammatory and watch the idiotic chaos unfold. It never gets old. Things keep getting louder, but Daichi’s calm control over his crew (and the fact that Kageyama and Hinata seem to have found another purpose for their loud mouths) leave things bearable enough for Tsukishima to enjoy himself. 

He’s just started to truly feel comfortable, his cheeks pink with alcohol, when a hush falls over the room. The sudden change in volume has their entire table turning to face the door. 

A group has just walked in, and Tsukishima’s blood runs cold at the sight of the head of bright red hair that leads the pack. 

Asahi notices, asking, “Tsukki, you okay?”

Red eyes meet his from across the room for the briefest of moments, and Tendou’s expression darkens before making way for a sardonic smile. He gives him a quick wink and Tsukishima whips his head back to face Asahi with a pleasant smile before replying, “Of course.”

Sugawara is staring at the newcomers with barely contained fury. “We should make Kiyoko kick them out.”

“Absolutely not,” says Tsukishima. Ever since the crew gained knowledge of their tense past with Tendou and his fellow arms dealers, the animosity between both groups has worsened. “I am not asking her to deal with those assholes by herself.”

“Who said she’d be doing it alone?” exclaims Nishinoya, already rolling up his sleeves.

“No,” insists Daichi, “Tuskki’s right. There’s too much bad blood already, and I’m not in the mood to make it worse.”

The stern words hang in the air for a moment, Nishinoya pouting in disappointment at his beer. Tsukishima is about to chug the rest of his own when a smug voice greets them. 

Tsukishima’s shoulders tense up. He shoots a smirk over his shoulder at Tendou, who’s slouching by their table, his brick wall of a boss standing behind him like a shadow. “Did you need something?”

Nishinoya leans over the table to leer at them. “Yeah, no one asked you here!”

Tendou grins with too many teeth. “Please, I could hear you talk about me from all the way over there. You crows caw so loud it’s a miracle you’re still allowed indoors.”

Nishinoya slams his fist on the table and Tsukishima knows he has to step in before Daichi needs to. He repeats himself. “What do you want, Tendou?”

“This bar.”

“What.”

“We just want to be able to drink in peace, without all this,” —he pauses to smirk at Nishinoya— “irritation. We want to make this place our territory.”

“No.” Sugawara’s response rings loud, leaving no room for argument. 

Daichi says nothing, stern eyes locked with Tendou’s boss. Then, “Ushijima. I don’t want to fight over this.”

Ushijima nods. “Neither do we.”

“You know we can’t just hand this place over.”

In lieu of answering, Ushijima glances at Tendou, his severe expression unchanging.

“We could bet on it,” suggests Tendou. “No fighting, just a  _ friendly  _ competition. Loser stays out of here for good.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Tendou says, his smile turning predatory, “Darts?”

Tsukishima feels the stress that had been slowly building since Tendou’s arrival begin to dissipate. Karasuno could definitely win this. Who better to win this kind of game than a band of pirates? His opinion seems to be shared by the table as the others begin to grin. 

“That works,” says Daichi.

“On one condition, though,” continues Tendou. “I get to pick my opponent from your crew.”

Daichi nods. “You have yourself a deal.”

Red eyes grow with barely contained excitement. “Great! Your Majesty?”

Tsukishima starts. “I’m sorry?”

“Hold up!” jumps in Nishinoya. “He doesn’t count.”

“Oh no!” says Tendou, feigning surprise at their reaction. “Is something wrong? I thought for sure that, after all that wonderful quality time you spent together, running with your tail between your legs, prince Tsukishima here would be considered part of the crew.”

Nishinoya shrinks a bit at that and Daichi’s jaw visibly tightens. Tsukishima makes sure to fake a smile when he says, “It’s okay, guys. I’ll do it.”

He feels like a rabbit walking through a pack of wolves as he heads to the dartboard hanging against the wall beside Ushijima’s gang. They all eye him with interest, and Tsukishima makes it a point to ignore the stares. He needs to stay focused. The walk over here has made one thing clear: the alcohol is already affecting his sense of balance. He’s beginning to suspect that Tendou’s late arrival at the bar wasn’t an accident. He knew that if he waited a bit, his competition would already be at least a little inebriated, giving him the advantage. The thought pushes Tsukishima to make a last second decision. 

He turns to the bar. “Hey, Kiyoko?”

“Yes?”

“Six shots, please.”

Her expression doesn’t change, but a sort of understanding passes between them. “Coming right up.”

Tendou snickers at the order. “Nervous, Your Highness?”

“Half are for you,” Tsukishima answers, polite smile still firmly in place. “You don’t mind a challenge, do you?” 

Tsukishima feels the threat in Tendou’s eyes when he answers, “Not at all.”

It’s not long before three shots of clear alcohol are laid out in front of each of them. Tendou swallows his in quick succession, finishing the last one with a loud “ _ Aaaah! _ ”. 

He swaggers to the target, grabbing four darts. He makes a show of cracking his knuckles, then his neck, before taking aim, one arm casually resting against his back. 

The Karasuno crew has stepped up behind Tsukishima, and they all watch Tendou make his first shot. He misses the center by less than an inch. His smile widens as he throws the second dart. It lands right besides the first one, a bit further from the target. Seeming unphased, Tendou shoots again, the dart digging itself in a centimeter below center. 

The final dart hits the bullseye and Tendou lets his head fall back, cackling. “I’m 120% today!”

Tsukishima grimaces; the alcohol had almost no effect on Tendou after all. He goes to the counter, downs his three shots, and moves to the same spot Tendou occupied just a second ago. He takes a moment to observe the darts more closely: barely three inches long, made of rusty metal and horribly unbalanced. He’s dealt with worse.

He can see Tendou is his peripheral vision sitting on a table, long legs dangling beneath him. Tsukishima can practically feel the smugness radiating off of him, and has to swallow down his own smile; Tendou has forgotten two very important pieces of information. One, Tsukishima just spent several months aboard a ship with nothing to do but let his very skilled boyfriend teach him how to aim. And two, he’s good friends with the bartender. 

His mind cleared from the water in the shot glasses, he adjusts his stance, takes a deep breath, and aims. He tunes everything out: the heavy rain, the loud chatter, the dozen or so pairs of eyes glued to his arm. He could do this in his sleep. He exhales slowly, and throws all four darts once after the other without pause, each of them landing as close as can be to the center.

Tsukishima smiles and everyone stares at the target with wide eyes.

“Holy fuck, that was hot.”

He spins on his heels to see his three lovers looking at him from the bar’s entrance. Akaashi has a hand slapped over his own mouth and a faint blush on his cheeks, and Bokuto looks on the edge of bursting out laughing. 

“Oh man, I can’t believe you said that out loud.”

Akaashi’s blush darkens and Kuroo hits Bokuto’s shoulder. “Shut up, Bo.”

“As if you weren’t thinking the same thing!” Bokuto argues. 

“Ushijima,” says Daichi. 

Both leaders exchange a brief nod, and Ushijima’s gang begin packing up their things with annoyed grunts, an obviously ticked off Tendou close behind.

“Uh, what’s going on?” Bokuto asks, his arm already around Tsukishima’s shoulders. 

“I got Tendou to leave us alone,” he answers, letting himself subtly rest against him, “for now, at least.”

Akaashi is still looking at him with bright eyes, a small smile hanging off his lips. “You’ve improved a lot.”

Tsukishima shrugs. “I had a pretty good teacher.”

Akaashi responds by tangling his fingers in Tsukishima’s hair to pull his head down and press a warm kiss against his lips. 

Somewhere behind them, the main door opens and Tendou shouts an insulting goodbye at him, but Tsukishima barely registers it. In any other circumstances, he would’ve tried to give some sort of snippy retort to piss him off. Instead, he shoots a weak wave towards the exit’s general direction, too busy using his other hand to bring Akaashi closer. 

When he finally pulls away, Akaashi’s flush is nowhere near gone, making him grin. “What are you guys doing here?” he asks. 

“We know you don’t like coming here by yourself,” answers Bokuto with a shrug. 

Kuroo’s fingers curl around his wrist, making Tsukishima’s skin tingle. “But it looks like you had everything under control.”

He rolls his eyes. “Obviously. But—” he voice quiets a bit, “thanks for coming anyway.”

It’s another thirty minutes before Yamaguchi finally makes an appearance. He finds Tsukishima closely surrounded by his lovers: Akaashi snoozing against his shoulder, Kuroo in a heated debate with Daichi, and Bokuto arm wrestling Asahi.

Yamaguchi tries to get Tsukishima alone, but as it is everyone is too curious to hear his news for them to get away. In the end, Yamaguchi cracks, revealing through an embarrassed stutter that he intends to propose to Yachi the following week. The guys whoop congratulations as Yamaguchi desperately tries to shush them, worried about Yachi overhearing them from the bar. 

Kuroo is quick to offer their place for an engagement party, and Yamaguchi shyly accepts, pressured by Bokuto’s loud enthusiasm and one of Akaashi’s rare encouraging smiles. 

Tsukishima lets out a resigned sigh. He’s already begun organising their third party of the month in his head, quietly happy for his best friend. Smiling, he ducks his head against Akaashi’s, breathing in the calming smell of his hair; he can feel how tired he is and knows they should head home soon. But he’s having fun—his bed can wait a little longer. 

****

“Then we run like hell and hope we’re faster than the guards,” Tsukishima finishes with a smirk, half sitting atop Kuroo’s desk. The sun set a while ago and Bokuto and Akaashi are long in bed. 

It’s been a few days since the incident at the bar and even longer since Tsukishima found out about the art exhibit. He’s had enough time, now, to gather more intel and formulate a plan—too much, maybe. He admits he’s been procrastinating a little bit. Kuroo is usually the one who does this part, who comes up with the heists. Time is running out on this one, though, because the exhibit is next week, so Tsukishima swallowed his nerves and pulled Kuroo into the office. 

Kuroo sat through his explanation uncharacteristically quietly, asking for clarification every once in a while but otherwise not speaking. The full weight of his dark eyes was distracting as Tsukishima tried to stay focused. Now that he’s done, Kuroo is perched on the desk, staring intently at the blueprints Tsukishima has acquired, a small furrow in his forehead. 

Tsukishima is confident in his plan. It’s simple enough to pull off, but not so simple that Bokuto will complain that it’s boring. It’ll get them a good haul, if Tsukishima did a good job, and the risk is fairly low. But that doesn’t stop the nerves as he waits for Kuroo’s response. 

Kuroo thinks for another minute before leaning back. Tsukishima holds his breath as Kuroo shakes his head, smiling slightly. 

“I can’t find anything wrong with it,” Kuroo says ruefully, as if he’d been hoping there was. Tsukishima narrows his eyes and Kuroo puts his hands up in defense. “Hey, that’s a compliment! I’m impressed, Tsukki. We’ll tell the others about it tomorrow.”

“So you think it’ll work?” Tsukishima asks, avoiding his piercing gaze. 

Kuroo leans forward. “Yeah, I do.” 

His approval hits home, satisfying in a way Tsukishima didn’t expect. After all the time he’s spent with him, he knows Kuroo wouldn’t lie to make him feel good about it, not with their lives on the line. Who knew that Tsukishima could have so many hidden talents in this life of crime? This is just one more; another way he seems to belong here, in a way he never did before. 

He turns his head, finally facing Kuroo. He’s closer than expected; his soft huff of laughter ghosts across Tsukishima’s face. 

They’ve been here before, faces close and an undeniable tension between them. Unlike those other times, Tsukishima doesn’t have to content himself with just looking. 

Kissing Kuroo is like being set on fire—react quickly or be consumed. The first press of their lips is hard, bruising, but Tsukishima isn’t willing to give up any ground yet. He nips at Kuroo’s lower lip, resulting in a groan that goes straight to his dick. It didn’t take long for Tsukishima to realize that Kuroo likes to bite—but it took him a bit longer to realize that he enjoys being bitten just as much. 

Kuroo stands up from the desk, never breaking the kiss, and moves into the space between Tsukishima’s legs, where he seems to fit perfectly. This angle is kinder to Tsukishima’s neck and he wraps his legs loosely around him to pull him closer. Kuroo’s hands start to wander, sliding down Tsukishima’s side until they reach the edge of his shirt, where they slip under to the skin hidden below. Tsukishima shivers at the cool air and Kuroo’s warm fingers pressing into his hips. He doesn’t move beyond that, though, so Tsukishima takes matters into his own hands and yanks at Kuroo’s shirt. It’s not the most effective method and Kuroo laughs as it gets stuck around his head for a moment. 

Tsukishima grabs the waistband of his pants, pulling him closer to kiss him again. He miscalculates, though, and Kuroo has to catch himself as he almost falls over, his palms hitting the desk and his face far too close to Tsukishima’s once again. 

Kuroo smirks and Tsukishima can hear the bad pickup line before Kuroo can say it, so he kisses him instead. Kuroo responds by pressing further into his space. Tsukishima barely registers the sharp edge of the desk digging into his thighs; Kuroo’s bare back is warm and smooth and his mouth is insistent. 

Tsukishima reaches for Kuroo’s pants with only the vague plan of getting them off. Kuroo breaks their kiss, his long fingers lightly circling Tsukishima’s wrist to stop him. He doesn’t move far, though, so Tsukishima can feel Kuroo’s breath on his lips as he speaks. 

“Bend over.”

Tsukishima pulls back to give him an unimpressed look. How desperate does he think he is? 

Kuroo shrugs, unrepentant. 

Tsukishima stares at his expectant face for a moment, calculating. With a sigh, he shoves Kuroo’s chest until he has enough space to turn around and bend at the waist. He holds onto the desk—whatever Kuroo has in mind, Tsukishima figures he’ll need the support. 

“Stop grinning,” Tsukishima bites out even as he leans into the hand that Kuroo puts on his ass. 

“Who says I’m grinning?” Kuroo shoots back, amusement evident in his voice despite his words. Rather than waiting for a response, he tugs on Tsukishima’s pants, pulling them down around his thighs in one motion. Tsukishima sucks in a breath at the sudden chill, his clever retort dying on his lips. Kuroo nudges a leg between Tsukishima’s, forcing him to widen his stance. 

Tsukishima hangs his head low, his cheeks burning. The position is straight up  _ lewd _ .

“I hate you.”

“Not sure I believe you, princess,” Kuroo purrs, reaching around to grab Tsukishima, who’s hard already. Tsukishima nearly bites off his tongue in an effort to suppress his moan.

“Can you hurry up?” he bitches instead. “I’m getting cold.”

Kuroo laughs and lets go of him, slapping his ass playfully. Tsukishima jumps at the contact but does nothing but grit his teeth because Kuroo’s hands are large and warm and spreading him open and finally—

Tsukishima shudders with his whole body when he feels Kuroo’s tongue on him. Kuroo licks again, harder this time, and Tsukishima sucks in a breath, closing his eyes. 

Kuroo keeps going and why the fuck they haven’t done this before? If Tsukishima was in a different position, he’d be teasing Kuroo about finally finding a less annoying use of that mouth of his, but as it is, it’s all Tsukishima can do not to fall over. One of Kuroo’s hands is holding him steady at the waist, keeping him grounded. There’s nothing Tsukishima can do about the sounds tumbling out of his mouth, short aborted moans that he can’t control. He gasps when Kuroo pushes deeper, groans when he adds a finger, whines when he stops. 

“Can you reach the top drawer closest to you?” Kuroo asks, ignoring Tsukishima’s complaints. He glances over at the drawer in question and drags a hand over to yank it open. What Kuroo wants is immediately apparent; Tsukishima leans further and grabs the jar of lube and tosses it at his head without looking. He hears Kuroo catch it, cursing. 

“Why do you have that in your desk?”

“For this exact situation? What kind of question is that?” Kuroo responds, not wasting any time before replacing his tongue with his lubed up fingers. Tsukishima laughs, despite himself, and it turns into a groan as Kuroo starts to stretch him quickly. 

He’s barely put a third finger in when Tsukishima starts whining that he’s _ ready, come on just fuck me already— _

Kuroo wastes no time then, cursing as he pushes all the way in. Tsukishima’s barely done anything, why is he this out of breath already? He lets go of the desk to rest his elbows on it instead as they both adjust.

Kuroo starts to move, slow and sure. 

“Finally,” Tsukishima mutters to himself, pushing back to try and get Kuroo to go faster without having to ask for it. 

Apparently Kuroo heard him, because he squawks, “Finally? Fuck you, you had a great time.” But he punctuates this by thrusting harder and Tsukishima doesn’t bother responding. 

After that, Kuroo doesn’t hold back anymore. His grip on Tsukishima’s hip is so hard it’s bruising as he slams into him again and again and  _ again _ .

Any semblance of control Tsukishima had goes out the window and he ends up pressed completely into the desk, his cock uncomfortably jutting into the hard wood and he’s practically drooling with pleasure. As much as Kuroo loves to hear himself talk, he’s surprisingly quiet during sex. It’s a good thing; there’s no way Tsukishima would be able to keep up witty banter at this point. 

Kuroo shifts slightly, changing the angle, and Tsukishima cries out as he hits his prostate. He accidentally knocks something off the desk, a jar of pens, and it clatters to the floor, but neither of them do anything about it. Tsukishima is so hard it  _ hurts _ , but it’s not quite enough—

Kuroo’s hand leaves his hip to grasp at his shoulder, hauling him up. Tsukishima turns his head, craning his neck and Kuroo meets him halfway, kissing him sloppily. Tsukishima wraps a hand around his dick and he’s so close it only takes two strokes before he’s coming. It hits the desk but Tsukishima will worry about that later because Kuroo, after fucking him through his orgasm, pulls out and turns him around so they’re face to face. They kiss properly, greedily searching each other’s mouths. Kuroo is working himself between them and Tsukishima, boneless, just clings to him. Kuroo finishes between them quickly, his only sound a choked moan. 

They stay close, panting, trying to catch their breath. 

Coming back to himself, Tsukishima grimaces. “Did you have to come on my stomach?”

Kuroo huffs, flicking his hair out of his face. “Shut up.”

“Clever.”

“Hey, I just fucked you stupid, give me a break—” 

Tsukishima cuts him off with a sweet kiss. “Let’s go to bed.”

They clean themselves up—and the desk—and before long, they’re crawling under the covers where Bokuto and Akaashi are already spooning. 

“Why do you smell like sex,” Bokuto mumbles, curling himself around Tsukishima the second he’s in reach. Akaashi doesn’t budge; he sleeps like the dead.

“We fucked in the office,” Kuroo says, already shoving his head under a pillow. 

“Without me?” Bokuto pouts around a yawn. 

“Yes, without you. Go back to sleep,” Tsukishima snaps without any real bite. He pets down Bokuto’s hair and Bokuto sighs happily. 

“Mmkay.”

Kuroo snickers into his shoulder, and Tsukishima is soon drifting off, content.

****

The private viewing party is a little much, even by Tsukishima’s standards. From outside, he can’t see a lot through the barely open window, but the little he can is downright blinding. The light from the dozens of lit candles along the windows reflect on every shiny object it can reach, and with this crowd, that’s a lot. Diamond necklaces, pearl earrings, silver cufflinks, ruby brooches, a fucking  _ tiara _ … The guests are shining like scummy rich fireflies. The golden statue at the center of the gallery glows the brightest, enough to make Tsukishima’s eyes water.

He doesn’t look away though. It’s his job to pay attention to the party, and pick the right moment to whistle Akaashi the signal to pull the windows open. Akaashi is on the other side of the building, where the windows are too high up for him to see through. Tsukishima figures the ideal timing for the lights to go out will be when the artist shows up; everyone’s eyes will be on them, and the guests should be sufficiently distracted. Unfortunately, the artist in question is late, so Tsukishima is stuck outside waiting in the cold wind, keeping an eye inside on the guards, as well as Kuroo and Bokuto. The two are dressed to blend in with the other guests, in crisp black suits and their hair stylishly pulled back. Tsukishima hates that he kind of likes the view.

Aside from that, he’s finding the job pretty boring. There’s nothing too interesting happening, just nobles chattering over excessively shiny champagne flutes. The sound isn’t travelling well to Tsukishima, either, so he can’t listen in, even if he wanted to. 

Things start to get entertaining a little less than an hour in, when a middle aged woman in a sparkly blue dress seems to take interest in Bokuto. She giggles at every word he says, twirling a loose lock of hair around her finger in the most overt example of flirting Tsukishima’s ever seen. Bokuto is stuttering through the conversation, backing himself up into a corner as he awkwardly rubs the back of his neck. The lighting is too dim for Tsukishima to be able to see it well, but he’s positive Bokuto is blushing. Kuroo is the smooth one—Bokuto is only in there because of the four of them, he’s the best pickpocket.

The woman gets bolder as the conversation progresses, reaching over to caress the tips of Bokuto’s hair. Tsukishima has to bite his cheek to stop himself from laughing when she leans over to whisper something in Bokuto’s ear and his eyes grow the size of dinner plates. 

Luckily, Kuroo is on his way back to him. But before he can get there, Bokuto is already trying to talk her down. And is very clearly doing a terrible job. The more he speaks, the more Tsukishima can see her expression turning sour, and the more Bokuto tries to rectify the damage, the worse it gets. By the time Kuroo gets to him, the woman looks downright outraged, and without saying a word, lifts her hand in a wide swing. 

The slap is loud enough for Tsukishima to hear it. To his credit, Bokuto barely flinches, wincing a bit through pained blinks as Kuroo apologizes at his side. Tsukishima is almost too busy trying to hold back his laughter to notice the guards moving from their posts by the doors, most likely to escort them out of the building. 

Knowing he can’t afford to wait anymore, Tsukishima whistles, two sharp notes, as loud as he can. He waits one, two, three seconds, then pulls on the string, trusting Akaashi to do the same on his side. The windows slam open wide and the wind blows in immediately, extinguishing all the candles at once. 

A few anxious cries ring out as the room is blanketed in darkness. The only light left is the little bit from the street lamps outside, but the glow barely passes through the stained glass. The guests become nothing more than vague shadows, stumbling past each other blindly as the guards and staff scramble for some matches. 

Just in case someone decides to check outside, Tsukishima doesn’t wait to see how things unfold from here. He jogs through several alleyways before calmly walking through a few well lit ones until he reaches their rendezvous point, a street corner near a popular tavern. 

Tsukishima is the fastest and arrives first, but Akaashi is quick to join him.

“Are you okay?” Tsukishima asks, just to be sure.

“In our last big job, I had to take out four guys by myself. Today, I pulled a string and walked a few blocks. Yes, I’m okay.”

They only wait a little longer for the others, wasting time watching the drunks stumbling out of the tavern. To no one’s surprise, Kuroo and Bokuto are already arguing when they finally catch up. 

“All you had to do was nod and smile!”

“You left me! It’s not my fault, I was left alone with no supervision.”

Tsukishima sighs and Akaashi stares, flat expression unchanging. The pointless bickering continues as all four start their journey out of town and back home. 

They’re within view of the house, tall grass bending under the weight of their coats, when Tsukishima notices something odd. “Bo, are you wearing a pearl necklace?”

“Huh?” he stops, moving aside his cloak to reveal his chest. Off his neck hang four different pieces of jewelry, badly tangled around each other. “Oh yeah! Well, I didn’t notice when we first got this suit, but the pockets are super small. So” —he extends his arms, showing off the dozen or so bracelets around his wrists— “I improvised. What do you think? Do I pull them off?”

“Couldn’t you have given them to Kuroo?” asks Akaashi.

“I didn’t think of it! Everything happened so fast! The lights went out earlier than I thought they would…”

“I wouldn’t have had to shut them early,” says Tsukishima,“if  _ someone _ had kept it together long enough to not get himself kicked out of the party.”

“Hey! I wasn’t kicked out!”

“Just slapped a little,” fills in Kuroo.

“Yes, you were,” argues Tsukishima, starting to walk to the house again. “The guards were making their way to you when we opened the windows.”

“I could’ve talked my way out of it!” Bokuto calls from behind him.

Tsukishima scoffs, keeping his steady pace forward. “Bo, you know I love you, but you can’t seriously expect me to believe that.”

The total lack of response at his remark has Tsukishima pausing midstep. He spins around. All three are giving him odd looks; Kuroo is wearing the hints of a smirk, Akaashi has an eyebrow raised, and Bokuto has his mouth open in shock, before it shifts into a shy smile. “You love me?”

Ah, fuck. “I—uh…”

They’re all looking at him and it’s too much, and he knows he can’t just leave, so he does the next best thing. He shuts his eyes.

The winds ruffles his hair and moves the grass along his ankles. He knows this isn’t a big deal. They already knew. How could they not know? People don’t change their lives over night for people they don’t love. He spends everyday with them, he lives with them, sleeps in their bed, kisses them every morning— they  _ knew _ , of course they did. So why are they acting like they didn’t?

Because he’s never told them. The obvious answer mocks him and Tsukishima grimaces at the thought. 

It’s just not something that comes naturally to him, it isn’t the kind of thing he  _ says _ . But it isn’t the kind of thing he’s  _ told,  _ either. Not that it’s never happened. He remembers a drunk Nishinoya slurring into his shoulder about how much he “loves you guys almost as much as this beer, but it’s like, suuuuuuper close” at a late night at the bar. His father’s speeches often include a statement about his love for his family. Yamaguchi probably said it once or twice.

Tsukishima isn’t one to make random declarations of love, because they were never needed. Love was implied in friendship or a family obligation. 

But this is different. It’s Kuroo, Akaashi, and Bokuto. He thinks it when they smile, feels it when they laugh, and has the impulse to tell them whenever they’re around. This doesn’t need to be a scary thing. 

Tsukishima opens his eyes. All three are much closer now, waiting on his answer, and Tsukishima gives them his best confident smile. “What are you, stupid? Of course I love you.”

Bokuto smiles bright enough to blind him before rushing to squeeze him in his arms, face buried in his neck. “Love you too,” he says, voice muffled through Tsukishima’s clothes. The happiness in his voice makes something warm settle in his stomach. 

Over Bokuto’s shoulder, Kuroo and Akaashi are giving him looks that spread that heat through his chest and into his cheeks. Unable to meet their eye any longer, Tsukishima reaches for the one standing the closest, Akaashi, and pulls him into a sudden kiss. 

Akaashi kisses him back fiercely. He tangles their hands together as they part.

“”I love you, Tsukki,” Akaashi says wryly, his eyes crinkling. 

Kuroo rests his head on Akaashi’s shoulder and winks. “Me too, princess.” 

Tsukishima smiles at them, overwhelmed but happy. “Can we go inside now, then? It’s fucking freezing.”

“I can think of a few ways to warm you up,” Kuroo purrs, still draped over Akaashi, who rolls his eyes. 

“I’m sure you can,” Tsukishima snarks despite the heat gathering lower and lower in his body. He grabs Bokuto with his free hand and drags him and Akaashi towards the house, Kuroo trailing behind easily. 

When they get inside, Tsukishima unfastens his cloak slowly, eyeing his boyfriends. They aren’t doing anything, but his mouth is dry regardless. 

“It’s barely nine,” Tsukishima says carefully, looking at his cloak as he hangs it up. When he turns to face them, they’re waiting expectantly. “Do you guys wanna—” 

He can’t even get the words out before Bokuto is whooping and racing to the bedroom, his shirt already thrown to the floor. Kuroo follows him, complaining that Bokuto’s making a mess that Kuroo is  _ just going to have to clean up goddammit Bo, we talked about this.  _ Tsukishima laughs at them, unable to control his grin for once.

He’s distracted from their antics by Akaashi’s hand slowly slipping back into his own. “Are you okay now?”

“Yeah, I—” Akaashi’s piercing eyes have him pausing for a second. “I don’t know why I was so—worried about this, really.”

Akaashi hums, tugging him forward. He’s much too close when he says, “Do you remember what I told you? That first night you stayed with us?”

Tsukishima does. “You told me I was in good hands. That it was going to be okay.”

Akaashi smiles against his lips. “And? Was I right?”

Tsukishima lets his eyes shut and pretends he isn’t smiling, too. “You just want to be able to say ‘I told you so’.” He kisses him again, softly this time, letting the warmth inside him settle comfortably. 

Akaashi pulls away after a moment, eyes bright. He tilts his head to their bedroom, where they can hear Bokuto and Kuroo getting started without them. “Come on. Let’s catch up.”

  
  


****

Yamaguchi’s engagement party is in full swing. 

To say Tsukishima is a participant would be an overstatement, despite it being in his own house. He’s content to lean against a wall and watch from the living room. He’s all too aware that, any minute now, someone will spot him here and drag him back into the party, but for now he’s going to enjoy the relative peace he’s found. 

From his spot, he can see Yamaguchi and Yachi sitting on the couch, nodding along with wide eyes to whatever long term relationship advice Coach and Takeda are offering. Right by their side are Daichi and Sugawara, both interjecting with their own piece of wisdom whenever they can get a word in.

At the dining table, Hinata, Tanaka, and Bokuto are busy losing all their money to Kenma in a game of poker. Kuroo is leaning against Bokuto’s chair, arms crossed, most likely chastising him for even  _ attempting  _ to win against Kenma. Tsukishima can’t blame Kuroo on this one; Kenma is almost too clever for his own good. Although, he can’t help but notice that Hinata is losing far less badly than the other two, and if Kenma’s small smiles thrown his way are anything to go by, that isn’t by accident. 

Akaashi, having been banned from the game due to his impeccable poker face, is quietly chatting with Kiyoko on the other end of the table, wincing anytime he glances at his boyfriend’s bets.

Near the kitchen, Asahi is trying to land peanuts into Nishinoya’s open mouth. Judging by the amount of shells beneath his feet, he hasn’t been very successful. 

Through the mess comes Kageyama, carrying two glasses of cheap wine. Instead of joining Hinata, like Tsukishima expects him to, Kageyama heads his way, handing him one of the drinks when he stops to lean on the wall by Tsukishima’s side.

“Thanks.”

Kageyama nods. “Yeah.”

There’s a strange silence between them. Despite coming from similar backgrounds, both having been princes at some point, they never have much to talk about. 

“These parties are weird,” says Kageyama.

“Of course they are,” Tsukishima answers, taking a long sip. “Hinata is usually there.”

Kageyama lets out the approximation of a laugh. “Yeah, but I mean—compared to the ones we used to have.”

A brief image of the royal parties he attended in the past flashes through Tsukishima’s mind and he grimaces. He nods in agreement. “The wine doesn’t have a label here.”

“Wearing a shirt is more of a suggestion,” says Kageyama.

“You can’t see yourself in the floor.”

“I’m pretty sure almost everyone here has stabbed someone at some point.”

“You can’t go five minutes without someone insulting you to your face.”

There’s a pause where they both smile at their drinks. Talking about this makes Tsukishima feel funny in a way he can’t quite explain.

Kageyama shrugs. “But it’s better, right?”

Tsukishima takes another look around, eyes involuntarily pausing on Bokuto and Kuroo bickering over Bokuto’s cards, Akaashi watching them fondly. The house smells like cheap alcohol and smoky wood, the crowded living room is too warm to be comfortable, and everybody is too loud. Tsukishima’s never felt more at home.

“Oh, it’s  _ so  _ much better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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